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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776925">Every Door Leads to You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesandcake/pseuds/beesandcake'>beesandcake</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Attempt at Urban Fantasy, Crack Treated Seriously, Crooked Politics, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Howl's Moving Castle flavored, Mix of show and book because author can't pick a canon to stick with, Secrets, The Author Regrets Everything</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:15:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesandcake/pseuds/beesandcake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange circumstances can draw even the most unlikely of people together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageintostillair/gifts">languageintostillair</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for languageintostillair</p>
<p>My prompt choices were:<br/>Modern AU, urban fantasy<br/>Howl's Moving Castle AU (movie version or book version, can be a single scene – not expecting a full-blown adaptation!)<br/>Arranged Marriage, any universe (go wild, it could even be set in space), and they should start out as enemies/strangers</p>
<p>I decided to work with all of them. So here's an arranged marriage story, taking place in my attempt of urban fantasy, drizzled with some Howl's Moving Castle flavor. Maybe. If you squint.</p>
<p>Unbeta'd. Wish it wasn't. Really hope you like this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“In tonight's big story, Kings Landing remains fraught with tension, as the North appears increasingly poised to secede. Now we're receiving reports that Daenerys Targaryen has returned to Westeros with demands to fill her late father's seat on the council. As you know, Jaime Lannister, eldest son of Councilman Tywin Lannister stood trial for the murder of Aerys Targaryen three years ago, but was found not guilty. Sounds like the so-called Dragon Queen is back for blood.”</p>
<p>From a corner booth, Brienne Tarth jerked to attention, leaning in toward the TV suspended above her to hear better. She wished the subtitles were running but they weren't and she didn't want to draw more attention to herself by asking the bartender. </p>
<p>“Speaking of Jaime Lannister,” the pretty, female anchor broke in, “We haven't heard much about him since his acquittal, but now he's back in the news. Rumor has it that the long time bachelor will be walking down the aisle soon, with thousands asking the question, 'Who is his mystery bride?'”</p>
<p>Brienne bit her lip, filled with dread at whatever was coming next. Had they learned something? Would it be ugly pictures of her splashed across the screen?</p>
<p>“That's interesting indeed. He's never been tied to anyone romantically and with his reputation, that's not surprising. But, they say money talks and with that kind of money, it could be anyone.” The male anchor smirked. “Is it you? Is there something you're hiding from us?”</p>
<p>It could be anyone. She heaved a relived sigh.</p>
<p>The woman responded with a canned laugh and flip of her hair. “If that were true,” she elbowed the male anchor, “You think I'd be sitting here now?” She gave a big TV smile with too many teeth. “Whoever the lucky woman is, we're all dying to find out.”</p>
<p>The segment moved on to weather, but Brienne lagged behind, chewing on the word lucky. Even in the clearly scripted broadcast it was loaded. She shrunk into the booth, trying impossibly to make herself smaller. Less noticeable. She watched her trembling hands as she let her ear drift from the television to the bits of conversation from the other patrons surrounding her.</p>
<p>“A wedding!” one man scoffed, slamming his stein against the bar. “More like a distraction! Jaime Lannister murders a Councilor and we're supposed to forget all that 'cause he bought some bitch to marry him?”</p>
<p>Brienne ducked her head, prodding at an ice cube with her straw and reminding herself these men had no idea who she was.</p>
<p>“I heard he fucks his sister,” another man, as drunk as the first, interjected.</p>
<p>“We've all heard he fucks his sister,” the first man shrugged. “Wouldn't surprise me. The elites are all fucking each other.”</p>
<p>“More like fucking us,” came a third voice. “I'm no fan of the Lannisters, but Aerys Targaryen was a shit too. What do we care who killed him? And I bet this kid of his's just as bad.”</p>
<p>“Pity Jaime Lannister didn't kill his own father while he was at it.”</p>
<p>A wave of nausea rolled through Brienne's stomach. This was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut, reopening them slowly, trying to get a grip on the situation—her situation—as the men continued to talk. An errant water droplet rolled down her glass and she caught it on her fingertip studying it with no idea what she was looking for.</p>
<p>“What we really need,” that was the first man again, “Is a revolution. Fuck the wedding. Fuck the Council. Fuck Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister and everyone in between 'em. I hope the North does secede. Maybe I'll take my family up there.”</p>
<p>“And freeze yer dick off in the cold?”</p>
<p>Panic she'd been barely holding at bay since boarding the airship squeezed her and Brienne stood, abandoning water. She might be trapped, but that didn't mean she had to sit here listening to drunk men laugh about her quickly spiraling future. She needed some quiet, some time away from the godsdamned name Lannister. She needed to escape the fact that soon, that would be her name too. That soon, all of Westeros would know exactly who the mystery woman was. Maybe she'd avoided it tonight, but the day was coming when the newscasters would have her photo and it was coming sooner rather than later. Stumbling past the drunks, she heard one last snippet of conversation drift through the doors of the airship bar.</p>
<p>“Now that's a big bitch!”</p>
<p>Unsure how long she wandered the halls, Brienne felt her breathing stabilize. She didn't feel much better about the situation, but she'd escaped the worst of the panic. She chewed her lower lip as continued to walk.</p>
<p>In less than three weeks, she'd be married.</p>
<p>In less than three weeks, she'd be married to Jaime Lannister.</p>
<p>Never mind that she'd never even met Jaime Lannister, or that Jaime Lannister was insanely wealthy and painfully handsome, or that as far as she was concerned, Jaime Lannister really had murdered Councilor Targaryen. This was her decided future. </p>
<p>Arranged marriage wasn't particularly common these days, but it wasn't unheard of, especially not among the ruling class. Jaime being forced to marry made some modicum of sense. Jaime being married to her was...well, that was something else altogether. Brienne knew what was in it for her, for her people and their island, but what was he getting out of it?</p>
<p>She pushed through a set of heavy double doors, finding herself in the open viewing area at the front of the airship. The circumstances may have been a pity, but her breath was stolen all the same. She'd always traveled to the mainland by sea, and while that's where her heart would remain, she had to admit there was something magical about the sky, lit in pastel pinks and purples as the sun fell somewhere below. She wished she could enjoy it more.</p>
<p>Why her? </p>
<p>She knew men like Jaime. She knew he hadn't chosen her, big and ugly and awkward, any more than she'd chosen him. Her hand instinctively ran across her face, considering the unfortunate amalgam of parts, seemingly thrown together with no regard for the end result. Everyone would mock them. Everyone would ask how a man who looks like him would get saddled to an unfortunate beast like her. Everyone would think her lucky, never stopping to consider what she'd been forced to sacrifice. </p>
<p>It's not as if she'd be marrying anyone else, Brienne had long accepted that love wasn't in her cards, but she had her work and her hobbies and her freedom on her beautiful little island. As much as she'd longed for love as a girl, it wasn't something she needed, and it certainly wasn't something she'd find with a dishonorable, murdering monster like Jaime. No, she was resigned to a life of mockery in a spotlight she'd do anything to avoid.</p>
<p>“I won't force you.” Brienne jumped at the deep voice behind her, turning slowly to face her father. He gave her a consoling half-smile. “I can feel you worrying from the cabin,” Selwyn shrugged. “I won't make you do this, but...” His eyes went sad again.</p>
<p>“I know,” she sighed, filling in all his trailed off words. Tarth needed protection. They needed money. They needed a guarantee of their freedom and Tywin Lannister could give them all of that. “You need this. Our people need this.” She forced a thin smile. The falseness behind it didn't escape him. He didn't think this was for their people at all. He thought it was for her. </p>
<p>“My little star...” Her father reached out and touched her short hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. Brienne couldn't take it. Couldn't take the hardness in his swallow at the old nickname he hadn't used since childhood. Couldn't take the knowledge that he still blamed himself for the curse and truly thought these actions favored her.</p>
<p>“Stop.” She inhaled, a steadying breath, willing away the conversation she didn't want to have, but his eyes were too full and once again, she found herself out of place. She truly was trapped. </p>
<p>“Brienne...” Selwyn spoke again and she couldn't do it. She didn't have enough room in her mind for his guilt.</p>
<p>“I have to go take my pills,” she spun, leaving her father alone in the empty, darkening room.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The heels of Jaime's impeccably polished shoes clicked against the cobblestone walkway to the airship docks. The area was fascinating, designed to look like streets lost to time, while flying boats drifted in and out, day and night. The incongruity between the two amused him, almost enough to forget the reason he was here. Tywin's stiff stance against the horizon, however, brought him immediately back.</p>
<p>“Father,” he greeted as he reached the man, trying to sound as carefree as he looked.</p>
<p>“You're late.”</p>
<p>“You're lucky I made it at all.” He pulled an apple from the pocket of his custom tailored suit and bit into it. Tywin glared in disapproval.</p>
<p>“Is this the impression you want to make on your wife?”</p>
<p>“She's not my wife yet,” Jaime shrugged around a mouthful of fruit, stopping short of and never will be if I have anything to do with it. </p>
<p>If Tywin had any internal reaction, it didn't show in his unbending posture and unblinking eyes. “You're lucky we found this girl, you know. After that business with Aerys. The people think—“</p>
<p>“I don't care what the people think!”</p>
<p>“No,” he dismissed. “That's what you want them to think.”</p>
<p>Jaime opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a tight jaw and a hard swallow. He stared at the bite mark in his apple, feeling his casual demeanor slip a notch further. Nothing he could say to his father would matter, just as nothing he could say to defend his actions against Aerys would matter. It hadn't mattered in the farce they called a trial and it wouldn't matter now. Not to the Council, not even to his own family. He had summarily executed one of the most powerful men in the country and no one had thought to ask him why. He stared hard at Tywin, rigid and oozing judgment. It wouldn't matter if he told him anyway.</p>
<p>Instead, he finally said, “At least stop acting like you're doing this for me!”</p>
<p>“I'm not doing it for you,” Tywin agreed. “Not directly. But it is your impulsiveness that brought us here.”</p>
<p>Impulsiveness. To Tywin Lannister, his son's greatest act would be nothing more than a whim.</p>
<p>“Most of the Council wants me gone,” the statement was factual, devoid of sadness or emotional attachment. “They've always wanted that, but you slitting Aerys Targaryen's throat gave them a solid reason. I'm simply cleaning up another one of your mistakes.”</p>
<p>Jaime's fist clenched, jaw tightened, while rage thrummed through his body. He had a long list of mistakes but disposing of Aerys wasn't one of them. Killing Aerys hadn't even been that impulsive. Yes, the act itself had happened in the heat of the moment, but it hadn't been without weeks—months—of Jaime lying in bed, knotted with guilt and indecision and lack of other options. The fruit he'd forgotten was browning around the edges and he angrily threw it as hard as he could.</p>
<p>“Marrying me off to some island girl doesn't change that,” Jaime spat back. “You're just doing this to punish me.”</p>
<p>“Tarth,” Tywin continued, ignoring his son's outburst, “Remains independent. They have men and they have resources. Tying them to us, to our name, makes them allies. Half the Union hates us and half of that is your fault. If there is to be a civil war—and I suspect there will be—we need to look for allies on the outside. And if I'm wrong, it improves your appearance. Our appearance. Family men have good standing with the people.”</p>
<p>“That's all it ever is with you,” Jaime spat back, hating that he'd let himself lose control. Hating his father for not showing an iota of emotion. “You talk about our family! You don't actually care about our family. Not the people in it. You care about our name, our position.” </p>
<p>Tywin sighed in the condescending way Jaime loathed, the one that made him feel like he was a small child. “Keeping our position—our power—is caring for our family.” </p>
<p>Jaime considered whether that was the truth of it. Regardless of his anger, he knew Tywin believed it. What would life have been like if he hadn't grown up in the ruling class? If he'd gone to ordinary schools? If he and Cersei and Tyrion had been allowed to grow up as ordinary children, with a back yard and a swing set and a yearly family vacation instead of cold wealth and a father who was unloving half the time and absent for work the other half?</p>
<p>After an interminable silence, Tywin spoke again. “You're thirty-six. I've let you play around much longer than I should have. You will marry the Tarth girl, earn back a modicum of the dignity our name carries, and put an end to that other set of nasty rumors as well.” It was the final word. “And speaking of,” Tywin lifted his chin to the stream of people coming from the arrivals gate, “There she is.”</p>
<p>Jaime's mouth dropped open. Striding toward him was the ugliest woman he had ever seen.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The first thing Brienne realized, as she pushed through the gates and closed the gap between herself and the two sharply dressed men they were here to see, was that TV and magazines did not do her future husband justice. At least not physically. He's still a murderous monster, she reminded herself. But he was an undeniably handsome murderous monster. Seeing him in person—his lightly tousled hair shining in the sun, the cut of his jaw, the obvious firmness of his body beneath his perfectly fitted suit—took him to an entirely new plane.</p>
<p>The second thing she realized was exactly how she looked herself. Brienne was too much. Too tall, too ugly, too clumsy and awkward. She knew that and over the course of her twenty-four years had come to a reasonably comfortable understanding with it, but feeling the weight of Jaime's disapproving gaze before she even reached him, did little to quell her anxiety. Immediately, she dropped her eyes, in both avoidance of him, as well as reappraisal of her own outfit. Her father had tried to bring in a stylist, but she'd refused and suddenly, instead of feeling hidden in her oversized button down, she felt like she stood out more. Her long fingers twisted around themselves, mirroring the knots in her stomach as she approached the two Lannister men.</p>
<p>“Councilman Lannister,” Selwyn's voice sounded far off as she felt Jaime's eyes raking over every inch of her. </p>
<p>“Governor Tarth,” Tywin nodded. “I trust your travels were comfortable.” It was a formality and even drowning in her discomfort, Brienne could tell the man didn't give a single godsdamn about their travels.</p>
<p>“The accommodations were outstanding, thank you.” Brienne watched as the man next to her stepped out of his fatherly role and became the capable, competent leader of their island nation instead. She tuned out the old man's game they were playing, instead sneaking her first glance at Jaime close up. From a foot away, he didn't look like the murderer she'd seen on TV. Rather, he looked like one of the gods turned flesh. Probably the one that sought fit to mock her by putting her face on a body a full head taller than every other woman she'd met. He was staring at her, hard, with a crease between his brows like he hadn't quite figured something out yet.</p>
<p>“My daughter Brienne,” Selwyn motioned to her, as she looked up shyly and extended her own hand. Tywin reached for it, just as Jaime burst into laughter.</p>
<p>“Jaime,” Tywin warned through a clenched jaw.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry,” Jaime said, still laughing. “I'm sorry, it's just—I was under the impression I would be marrying a woman.”</p>
<p>The moment the words registered, Brienne's mouth fell open, gobsmacked. A hot flush crept across her skin, although she wasn't certain if it was more angry or embarrassed. Tywin was glaring at his son and she knew her own father was silently willing her not to react, but she couldn't let that go! “It's okay. I understand. I thought I would be marrying a human being.” </p>
<p>Jaime's eyes snapped to hers at that statement, and Brienne could swear there was the vaguest hint of a smirk at the corners of his mouth, as they stood in some kind of visual showdown. “Touche,” he said finally with a slight nod that told Brienne there was no finality to this conversation at all.</p>
<p>Tywin turned to his son. “We will discuss this later.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I'm sure we will,” Jaime muttered, disinterested. </p>
<p>Tywin chose to ignore him, instead turning back to Selwyn and Brienne. “The car is this way,” he said, ushering them toward the end of the cobblestone path. </p>
<p>The car turned out to be a large black SUV, surrounded by a full security detail. Her irritation subsided ever so slightly at the realization that Jaime had taken his own car and wouldn't be riding with them. She pushed herself up to the passenger door before father could think to send her with him instead. He hadn't even apologized!</p>
<p>“I won't force you to do this,” her father whispered behind her as she yanked open the door. “But I ask you to get to know him. Maybe he'll surprise you.”</p>
<p>Brienne doubted that. There was nothing surprising about men like Jaime.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was going to be a long life.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Councilman Lannister had an opinion on her, Brienne couldn't figure out what it was. She spent most of the twenty minute drive staring out the window, taking in the sights of Capitol's affluent district, while pretending not to listen to the older men talk. Selwyn was all politics, flitting easily from whatever topic Councilman Lannister wished to discuss. Her father may have given her an out, but Jaime's clearly hadn't done the same for him and as they settled into discussion of the wedding, she got the sense he didn't care much who his son married, so long as it reflected well on him. She almost felt bad for her intended.<br/><br/>Then she remembered his laughter when they'd met.</p>
<p>She leaned her head against the cool glass, trying to draw her mind to other things. Despite the circumstances, she only been to Kings Landing once, and that was when she'd been too young to remember. Much of it had been renovated, but some of the original stone was hundreds of years old and the combination of the two was a marvel. She made a note to escape on her own for a day of exploration the first chance she got.</p>
<p>Somehow, Brienne had made the assumption they'd head to their hotel first, giving her a chance to freshen up, so when the winding roads found the car pulling to a stop in front of a massive estate, she blanched. She'd spent last night on the airship and now she just wanted a shower and some privacy, and most of all not an entire evening with Jaime. At the very least, a change of clothing would have been nice. She sighed, exiting the vehicle toward the towering set of stairs leading to the main entryway.</p>
<p>The house itself looked more hotel than home, and felt more like a prison. The most luxurious prison she'd ever seen, but a prison, nonetheless. It was enormous, designed to fit with the historic aesthetic of this part of the city but undoubtedly boasting every modern amenity she could think of. She wondered how a family of four could possibly use all of this, even after factoring in full time staff. The Lannisters had a second estate, she knew, out west, in Casterly Rock, and that's where she and Jaime would likely find themselves when they...if they went through with this. She hoped that house wasn't so...much.</p>
<p>“Pia has been assigned to you and will see to all your needs while you're here, Miss Tarth,” Tywin announced as one uniformed man opened a towering door, while two more rushed down to begin retrieving their bags from the car. That was a lot to unpack, and Brienne's first thought was how odd it was, being called Miss Tarth, made even odder by the fact that this man would be her goodfather in less than a month!</p>
<p>Pia? The men pulling her luggage from the trunk? Surely this didn't mean? “We're staying here?” she blurted. Both the councilman and her father turned back to her, and she scrambled to tamp down the horror she felt reaching her eyes.</p>
<p>“If that's to your liking,” Tywin said, in a voice that implied only one acceptable answer.</p>
<p>“<span>It's...Yes, of course.” Brienne felt her skin flush to the roots of her stringy blond hair. Tywin nodded and her father shot her a sympathetic smile that said they'd talk later. If she'd felt boxed in on the airship, she couldn't fathom what being trapped in this house would feel like. <br/><br/>“I'll show you to your rooms,” Pia smiled, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth that somehow managed to give Brienne a modicum of relief. After a brief tour of the part of the home Brienne would be staying in—with multiple interjections that she was, of course, welcome everywhere, Pia just didn't wish to overwhelm her on her first day—they arrived at the door to Brienne's suite. Her jaw hung open, as she surveyed the space. The door led to a large sitting room, off of which branched her own bedroom, with her bags already neatly tucked inside. From there, she had a massive bathroom with a tub that might actually be big enough to fit all of her. It was like an apartment minus the kitchen. Seven hells, even without the kitchen, it was bigger than the apartment she'd stayed in while attending university in Storms End. Not only that, but the room—rooms—spoke in opulence. She could feel the thread count of the sheets just by looking at them and she was certain the chair she stood next to cost more than every chair she had ever owned combined.<br/><br/>“Is it to your liking?” Pia stood next to her grinning. <br/><br/>Brienne turned back to the other woman, blinking. “Yes.”<br/><br/>“Great! There are a few items on your schedule. You're meeting at 10 tomorrow with your wedding planner—her name is Margaery and you will </span><em>love</em><span> her—and I'm sure she will have plans, plus there's a formal welcoming dinner at 6 and—” Pia stopped. “Hey, are you okay?”<br/><br/>Pia's eyes held genuine concern, and Brienne swallowed, blinked again, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I'm just... It's... All this is just...” She inhaled deeply, blowing out a slow breath.<br/><br/>“It's a lot,” Pia agreed. “Sometimes it's a lot for me too, and I just work here.” The woman took Brienne's hand, leading her to the plush chair she'd been eyeing earlier. “Why don't we do this? You relax, settle in, and I'll come up at 9 tomorrow morning. I'll help you get ready and we can go over your itinerary then.” </span></p>
<p>Brienne nodded her gratitude, wishing her mouth would catch up to her racing thoughts so she could thank her properly. She watched Pia cross the room to open a small fridge and pull out a bottle of water. The woman couldn't have been much younger than herself, and Brienne found herself oddly envious. Pia worked here, sure, but it wasn't her home. She still had her real life, real friends, real hobbies. The prison analogy she'd made earlier slipped briefly through her thoughts, but then Pia was pressing the cold bottle into her hand. Brienne sipped slowly, hoping that if nothing else, she'd found something of a friend.</p>
<p>“<span>Will there be anything else for now?”<br/><br/>“No,” Brienne said slowly. “Thank you, Pia. For everything.”<br/><br/>“Of course!” Pia beamed at her. She flicked a card out of the breast pocket of her uniform. “Here's my cell. Text me if you think of anything. I'm here overnight tonight, so it's really no problem,” she assured and Brienne found herself disgusted in the knowledge that there were people here who would drag the girl from her bed for some unnecessary errand they could do for themselves. “I'll let you be, then.” <br/><br/>Pia had just reached the door as Brienne's hesitant voice came to her. “Pia?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” she spun around at full attention.<br/><br/>Brienne licked her lips, gathering up all her courage. “How are they? The Lannisters?”<br/><br/>Pia's face split into a sympathetic smile. “Not as bad you'd think,” she reassured. “Ty—Councilman Lannister,” Brienne noted the quick correction, “doesn't really speak to the staff, but he's very professional. And Jaime...I really think you'll grow to like him. Once you get to know him. He hides himself. Like wearing armor or something. Underneath it he's actually very sweet.” She smiled and Brienne found herself even more puzzled by the man she was to marry. “I used to have a crush on him, you know? I should be insanely jealous of you.” <br/><br/>Brienne snorted in laughter at that. “Thanks again, Pia.”<br/><br/>“Anytime! I'll see you at 9.” With Brienne's nod, she slipped from the room.<br/><br/>Brienne sunk back into the massive chair, hating that it was every bit as comfortable as it had looked, and uncapped her pills.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>“It's ridiculous!” Jaime exclaimed, flopping backwards onto his brother's bed. “You agree with me, right?” He felt, rather than saw, Tyrion's noncommittal shrug, while he studied a particularly interesting blemish on the ceiling.</p>
<p>“It is Father,” Tyrion agreed. “When have you known him to not be ridiculous?”</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaime snorted. None of this was new. Tywin had been on him to find a suitable wife for the last decade, at least. He needed heirs, little Lannisters to run the world later, since his own children had been deemed wholly incompetent for that purpose. Jaime wanted to ask him if he'd ever considered his role in that. “He thinks he can just control everything!”<br/><br/>“Wrong. He </span>
  <em>does</em>
  <span> control everything. That's why he thinks he can do it. What's your love life compared the entire Union?”<br/><br/>Jaime pushed up on his elbows, leveling his brother a glare. “You'll probably be next, you know. Once he's done with me. I can't build the Lannister army myself.”<br/><br/>“Ah, the perks of having a secret girlfriend. I don't think Father likes me enough to want my progeny for the Lannister army.” The statement was simple, matter of fact, and Tyrion's blithe acceptance of it hurt Jaime almost as much as knowing he was probably right. Hating his beloved brother was bad enough, but hating him for a condition Tyrion had no control over was egregious. As if he'd chosen to be a dwarf. “But,” Tyrion continued with another shrug, “If he does try this with me, I'll just move in with Tysha. Her house doesn't have all the...amenities we have here, but it is magical in it's own way.”<br/><br/>Jaime was one of the few people who knew his brother had a girlfriend outside of their family status. They'd been together for something like seven years and Jaime had no idea how they kept secret for so long, especially with their family taking up so much space in the public eye. Probably a lot of it went back to the low regard in which his father held his brother, but Tyrion was also really careful about keeping her at a distance. Despite the closeness between the brothers, Jaime himself had only met her twice. He'd asked Tyrion once how Tysha felt about all of this, being hidden away like a sin, but his brother had simply responded it was for her own protection and she understood that. Jaime had quietly accepted that their relationship was strange and not prodded further. It's not like he didn't have his own strange and dangerous relationship issues to deal with.<br/><br/>“I have a secret girlfriend too,” he pouted.<br/><br/>Tyrion deadpanned at him through raised eyebrows. “Our sister,” he cringed, “does not count. And please do not continue this discussion because I like pretending it doesn't exist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaime opened his mouth with a taunt, but snapped it shut again, granting his brother a reprieve. He understood why others were so disgusted. From the outside, it probably was disgusting, but the outsiders didn't know what he knew. They didn't understand the bond between twins, how they weren't even two separate people, but rather, two halves that were only whole when they were together. Gods, he loved her.<br/><br/>And that was the crux of the issue. Yes, his betrothed—</span>
  <em>Brienne</em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>her name is Brienne—</em>
  <span>was undeniably ugly, but honestly, it wouldn't have mattered if she had been the Maiden herself. He didn't love her. He couldn't.</span>
</p>
<p>Almost as if he sensed his brother slipping too far into his own mind, Tyrion redirected the conversation. “So tell me about this blushing bride of yours?” <br/><br/>Blushing indeed! Jaime thought of the red flush that covered ever inch of her when he'd implied she was a man. How to describe her though? They'd barely spoken two sentences to one another and he'd already made her hate him. If she hadn't hated him even before she arrived. The world didn't seem short on people who did. “She's tall,” he started, trying to figure out how best to put her into words. “Taller than you, anyway,” Jaime quipped, leaving off that she was probably even a little taller than himself.<br/><br/>“Everyone's taller than me,” Tyrion uncorked a bottle of wine, sloshing it into a glass. “Go on.”<br/><br/>“She has blond hair. Covered in freckles.” Jaime bit his lip, grappling for any other details he could remember about her. “She could probably kick Father's ass.” Tyrion snorted and Jaime's mind wandered to a visual of exactly that, surprised to find himself smiling.<br/><br/>“She has pretty eyes,” Jaime paused, unsure where that had come from other than the fact that it was true. Even as he'd insulted her, he couldn't deny the beauty in their blue depths. Maybe they'd been a little overwhelming, made him a little uncomfortable. Maybe that was why he'd needed to insult her in the first place. He cut that thought off quickly. This wasn't the time to get hung up on her eyes.<br/><br/>“Okay,” his brother prodded. “But what is she like?”<br/><br/>“I don't know,” Jaime shrugged. “I insulted her and left.”<br/><br/>“You—why?” Tyrion poured a second glass of wine, extending it toward his brother. Jaime waved it away.<br/><br/>“Because what else could I do?”<br/><br/>“I don't know,” Tyrion said, gulping down his glass in one big swallow before moving to the glass he'd offered Jaime. “You could try being nice.” Jaime said nothing, instead staring at the wall while trying to pretend he didn't feel the weight of Tyrion's studious gaze. “You're trying to scare her off,” Tyrion said slowly, as if he'd just put together the last few pieces of a puzzle.<br/><br/>Jaime raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Of course he was trying to scare her off. For as smart as his younger brother claimed to be, he should have reached that realization much sooner.</p>
<p>Except Tryion wasn't finished. “You're trying to scare her off,” he repeated, more confident this time, “But it isn't about Father and it isn't about the wedding.”<br/><br/>“I—“<br/><br/>“No, no,” Tyrion waved dismissively, his drink splashing over the rim of his glass. “You don't want to marry her, that part's true,” he said, leaving Jaime wishing he had accepted the wine because tuning his problems out sounded a lot better than whatever analysis Tyrion had prepared. “But it's not her. Not really.” He stopped, examining his brother. Jaime fought to keep his nonchalance, knowing it was useless. “You've already assumed she doesn't like you and you want it to happen on your own terms.”<br/><br/>And there it was, laid bare. Jaime couldn't even argue. He was so used to people hating him, because of his father, because of his name. Now even more so because Aerys and the least selfish decision he'd made in his entire life. It wasn't even that he cared how much people hated him, but he did want a say in their reasons behind it. Was that why he'd insulted Brienne? He hadn't put any thought to the words, not really, and he couldn't be sure now that that had been his intention, but Tyrion was good with people and—</p>
<p>“You're afraid,” Tyrion concluded.<br/><br/>Jaime scoffed.</p>
<p>“I'm serious!” he continued, his gestures becoming more animated as he pummeled Jaime with his words. “You're afraid of rejection, but more than that, you're afraid someone might see the good in you. You don't know what to do with that.”<br/><br/>“Don't!” Jaime demanded, scrambling to get away from his brother's ascertainment. He'd never thought of it that way before, but the idea left him feeling far more exposed than he cared for. “Stop,” he said softer. “Let's talk about something else.”<br/><br/>Tyrion's hands said, “fine with me,” but his stare told Jaime they'd revisit this topic later.<br/><br/>Fortunately, it didn't happen that night. Tyrion downed two more bottles of wine, while Jaime finally gave in and helped himself to a couple fingers of whiskey from his brother's bar. They laughed about the good parts of their childhood, talked about Tysha, made fun of the other council members and their families. It was a good night, better than any he'd had in some time, and he found himself glad to have spent it catching up with his brother, instead of alone, watching stupid videos and trying to ignore what his life was turning into.</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, everything rushed back as trudged, exhausted, to his own room. Tomorrow, he'd see her again. Her and her stupidly pretty eyes. Did Tyrion have the right of it? Jaime could say with complete certainty that he didn't want to marry her, and probably was trying to scare her off. It was worth a shot anyway. But even the facts couldn't shut out what Tyrion's words, as they haunted him, drifting up through the depths of sleeplessness to beat an unwanted tattoo against his brain.<br/><br/></span>
  <em>You're afraid.</em>
</p>
<p>Was he?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>Brienne hadn't even seen a Lannister since yesterday, much less figured them out, but she had to admit Pia had been right about something: She did love her wedding planner. That had surprised her. She'd known girls like Margaery from school, confident, unbearably beautiful, and liked by everyone. In school, those girls hadn't been very nice, but Margaery was different. With knowing smiles and humorous quips, she immediately put Brienne at an ease she hadn't expected. Of course, she was likely being paid a fortune and there was a possibility this was all an act, but she seemed genuine enough. Between Margaery and Pia, Brienne thought this might actually turn out to be a decent day.</p>
<p>The other thing Brienne struggled to wrap her mind around was just how connected to one another the people in the Capitol were. Margaery's own grandmother sat on the Council as well, although the girl was quick to admit she preferred limiting her own political involvement to philanthropic work in the poor communities. <br/><br/>“And, of course, social events like this one,” she gushed. “Your wedding is going to be the best!”</p>
<p>Even Brienne had a connection here, albeit a loose one. Margaery, it also turned out, was the sister of the boyfriend of her college crush. Renly, the man she'd thought herself hopelessly in love with since the day he rescued her from some campus bullies in her first week, was also the youngest brother of Councilman Baratheon, who, it turned out, had been married to Jaime's sister for over a decade. They were warm acquaintances at best, but it still probably wasn't a good thing that she was more excited to see her definitely gay former crush at dinner tonight than she was to see her future spouse. Renly had never mistaken her for a man.<br/><br/>The women spent the first part of the morning getting to know one another and at points, Brienne almost found herself drawn in by the other woman's gossip. She seemed to know everything. To Brienne's disappointment, Margaery didn't offer any insights on her groom and Brienne wasn't quite comfortable enough to ask, but as they drained their second cups of coffee, Brienne found that she was the most at ease that she'd been since her father had dropped this on her.<br/><br/>Then, the actual planning started.<br/><br/>Brienne drifted in and out of her own thoughts as Margaery tittered enthusiastically about one topic after another. Like the groom, much of the celebration didn't require her input. In keeping with arrangements, it would be a traditional ceremony with vows exchanged in the Sept of Baelor. That almost excited Brienne, as she'd always longed to visit the Sept, albeit not under these circumstances. The reception would follow, hosted at The Red Keep, home to the long lost kings of Westeros. While both structures had been destroyed in ancient times, they'd been rebuilt and maintained, much in keeping with their original aesthetics. Even routine updates to add modern amenities, there was enough history in them to catch and hold Brienne's interest. Unfortunately, she was quickly pulled back to the wedding. <br/><br/>Despite having<span> the biggest details ironed out for her, there were still plenty little ones for Margaery to busy her with. The colors, those of Jaime's family, of course, were already decided on, but the decorations within that scheme were up to her. She and Jaime had samplings with the five best caterers in the area and she was pretty sure Margaery had listed off no fewer than ten bakeries for their cakes. Brienne didn't even eat cake! Next there were photographers and bands and what kind of flowers did she want? By that point, Brienne was beyond overwhelmed and had tuned out almost entirely as a means of self preservation. She wanted to scream that she didn't care what kind of flower, that they'd all be dead a week after the wedding, so what did it matter anyway? She did like Margaery though, so instead she settled for awkwardly mumbling, “Anything but roses will be fine.” Margaery gave her a curious stare, but moved on.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Then there was the worst of it: Tomorrow, she had her first fitting, not only for her wedding gown, but for clothing for all the month's festivities. She'd need outfits for the photos she and Jaime were scheduled to take next week, and dresses for the engagement party, rehearsal dinner, and any smaller events that might crop up in between. Margaery had thrown the name Donyse at her no less that six times, though Brienne had never cared enough about fashion to recognize the name of the supposedly renowned designer. Her skin itched at the thought of one fitting, let alone a </span>
  <em>first.</em>
  <span> The thought of some woman poking and prodding her, trying hopelessly to “bring out her best” as Margaery had generously put it. Clothing wasn't supposed to accent her body—it was supposed to hide it.</span>
</p>
<p>“What are you wearing tonight?”<br/><br/>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“The dinner, love,” Margaery said, and Brienne felt herself flush, despite the other woman's patience.<br/><br/>“I, uh...I guess I haven't thought about it?” Brienne winced, noting a slight slip in her companion's warmth.</p>
<p>But her smile was back soon enough as she tore out a sheet of paper with one hand and began scrolling through her phone with the next. “Pia, be a dear and call these places,” she handed over the paper. “See if any of them can see us in the next two hours.” Turning back to Brienne as Pia disappeared she said, “Don't you worry! We'll find you something.”<br/><br/>Brienne wasn't worried. At least not about that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She probably should have been. Dinnertime found Brienne in the doorway of the Lannister's too large ballroom, plucking at the gaudy Pepto-pink thing Margaery had finally managed to conjure. With so little time for planning, it was the best they could do and again, Brienne found herself regretting her refusal to hire a stylist before they'd arrived. <br/><br/>“Don't worry!” Pia insisted, smoothing a warm hand over Brienne's arm. “You look fine! Jaime is going to love you!”<br/><br/>Jaime was not, in fact, going to love her. Not that Brienne was concerned with Jaime's feelings toward her either way. All she wanted was to blend in, talk to as few people as possible, and retreat to her room, where she could occupy herself with dreading tomorrow in peace. It wasn't that she didn't like pink, she honestly found the color quite pleasing under the right circumstances. But pink didn't like her. It looked terrible against her skin, somehow making the backdrop appear washed out while her freckles popped more than usual. And even with the minor tailoring they'd managed to squeeze in, the fit was miserable, tight in the shoulders and waist, loose across the bust, and about two inches too short to be appropriate. At least she'd talked Margaery out of the heels.</p>
<p>
  <span>The room wasn't terribly crowded, but there were still too many guests for Brienne's liking, and she cringed, scanning the room for people she knew. Her eyes first landed on Jaime, looking bored as he scrolled through his phone at the head table she knew had been designated for them. He was still disgustingly attractive and Brienne looked away, wanting to put off approaching him as long as possible. Her father was engaged in a conversation with Councilman Stark, while Margaery didn't appear to have arrived yet. Brienne huffed and shuffled in, trying, and probably failing, to remain inconspicuous. From across the room, she landed on a pair of eyes, green, exactly like Jaime's, belonging to a face exactly Jaime's, but not Jaime's.<br/><br/>His sister. </span>
</p>
<p>Cersei Lannister's reputation preceded her and not in a good way. Brienne had heard stories far and wide, and not just from the TV, about the woman's brutality. Perhaps it was just common tabloid fodder, but the stories sounded frighteningly similar the stories she'd heard today, straight from both Pia and Margaery. She smiled awkwardly at the unwanted eye contact, but Jaime's twin did not reciprocate, only staring at her harder.<br/><br/>“Brie!” Brienne jumped, first scared, then relived at the familiar voice and warm hand on her shoulder. <br/><br/>“Renly!” She momentarily forgot herself, allowing her old friend to wrap her in a tight hug. The capped sleeves of her dress bit into her shoulders, reminding her of what she was wearing and she fought the blush that came anyway. Still, it wasn't like her dress made a difference as far as Renly was concerned, so she allowed herself to relax in the company of someone she knew and trusted. “How have you been?”<br/><br/>“Eh, you know...busier than I'd like.” He shrugged, then motioned to the man next to him. “Brienne, this is Loras. My fiance. Loras, Brienne. From college.” <br/><br/>Loras smiled, knowing, as he took her hand. “Charmed, Brienne-from-college. I've heard so much about you.”<br/><br/>“You're getting married?” she blurted, cringing, at her wording before correcting herself. She hadn't meant it like that. “I mean, congratulations!”</p>
<p>Renly just laughed though. “Not as soon as you are, it seems.”<br/><br/>Brienne groaned.</p>
<p>“Not looking forward to joining the family?”</p>
<p>Brienne gave a wan smile, but Loras responded before she could, “Can you blame her? You people are insufferable,” he grinned, more at his fiance than at Brienne. There was a silly love sickness to it and it sent a sense of loss through Brienne as she was forced back into the reality of her own impending nuptials.<br/><br/>“We are quite a bunch, aren't we?” Renly poked at Loras and smiled at Brienne. “You get used to it though. He wouldn't trade me for anything.”</p>
<p>Margaery floated over, holding a drink. “Brienne! You've met my brother!”<br/><br/>“I have,” Brienne smiled, allowing herself to be drawn into the welcoming company. Loras went to get them drinks, and even included her. Although seeing him with Renly stung a bit and was an unfortunate reminder of her purpose here, she was surprised by how much she was enjoying herself after all.<br/><br/>Even if she did look up to find Cersei Lannister's gaze still pinned directly on her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaime was bored. These formal events were never what he'd describe as fun, but at least he was usually under the radar enough to slip out early, if not skip them all together. Tonight, the eyes of the room weighed heavily on him. He pretended to ignore them in favor of scrolling through his phone, hoping the food would be served on time.</p>
<p>He'd seen Brienne arrive about twenty minutes ago, looking afraid to enter. He couldn't blame her much. He wouldn't even want to leave his room in that outfit she was wearing. There was so much potential to tease her that he almost looked forward to her approaching him. Except she hadn't, instead hanging awkwardly in the doorway.</p>
<p>Intrusive thoughts from his conversation with Tyrion crept in. Why Tyrion thought he was scared was utterly beyond him. What did he care if Brienne liked him or not? Even if they did end up married, it really didn't matter. Lots of people didn't like him. What was one more? It wasn't even like they'd be married for real.</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking up from his phone, he sneaked a second glance at her. She was busy, near the bar, laughing with his good-brother and the Tyrell girl and actually appeared to be having a good time. Apparently she liked </span>
  <em>them.</em>
  <span> Jaime prickled with irritation. These soirees weren't fun! She was supposed to be as miserable as he was. Yet, there she was laughing, while he sat with only the company of his phone. Even from the distance of his seat, he could see the light dancing in her blue eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>They really were incredible.</p>
<p>Jaime huffed in disgust and queued up another cat video, but less than half a minute in, he felt his eyes drift back to Brienne, against his will. Councilman Martell had joined their little cluster, along with the woman who usually accompanied him. For some unknown reason, they hated his family even more than the others on the Council and when Brienne threw her head back in laughter, he felt a paranoid twinge that they were laughing at him. He wasn't sure why he cared.<br/><br/>Jaime studied her much more carefully than he had at their first meeting, lingering on her shoulders. They were broad, the fabric clearly pulled tight against them, and while saying she could kick his father's ass had been a joke, he was certain she could. She could probably kick the asses of almost everyone here. His eyes traced the freckled skin of her collar bone, up her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, the same red as he'd turned them yesterday and he felt oddly annoyed that just anyone could make them do that.<br/><br/>She looked at him. He tore his eyes away. Jaime didn't need to be looking at her anyway. He looked glanced down to see the cat was gone, replaced by a flock of geese chasing a dog. Closing the video, he checked his notifications. Three of the top stories were about him. He read the first paragraph of the first one before realizing he had no idea what he'd read, then somehow, he was looking at Brienne again.</p>
<p>The dress might be awful, but it did show a lot of leg. Her legs were absurdly long with defined muscles. His eyes, still against his will, ran the length of them, reaching the hem of her dress just in time see—</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit.<br/><br/></span>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p>
<p>A swath of deep red fabric obstructed his view. Jaime jerked upward in his seat. Sirens went off and it felt like the room had filled with smoke as he stood, crossing the room certain he looked far less casual than he intended. He reached the edge of the bar time to watch his sister pluck at the skirt of Brienne's dress with disdainful fingers. Renly was gone, as was Martell, leaving only Margaery as a buffer between Brienne and Cersei. From his position, he could hear them and watched in morbid curiosity.<br/><br/>“This is such a lovely...ensemble,” she released the cloth, smile dripping with malice. “Who designed it.”<br/><br/>“I, uh...we bought it today,” Brienne stammered, going a shade of red entirely unfamiliar to Jaime. He wasn't sure why, but he felt oddly responsible for keeping the peace. It was one thing for him to insult their guest, but there was no way Brienne could keep up with his sister. Jaime scrambled for some way to insert himself into the situation.</p>
<p>“We were short on time,” Margaery interjected, saving him. “Donyse is going to take great care of you tomorrow. I'm so excited!” she addressed Brienne, before turning back to Cersei. “In fact, that's a Donyse too, isn't is? I remember seeing it last season...”<br/><br/>Jaime watched his sister's expression falter a moment, then quickly pull back into practiced grace. “Of course. Are you going with, Margaery? I'm sure you'll be so excited to finally meet her in person.” Cersei didn't wait for an answer, turning her glittering eyes back to Brienne. “Who designs your clothes back on...where did you say you were from again?”<br/><br/>Jaime stepped forward again, but Brienne straightened. “Tarth.”<br/><br/>“Tarth,” Cersei repeated as though there was nothing she could care about less. “This must be so thrilling for you! If Jaime goes through with it anyway. You certainly are an interesting choice for my brother.”<br/><br/>Brienne's skin looked practically molten as she grappled for something to say. Jaime had to get her out of there. He pushed his way into the group. “Ladies,” he gave his most dazzling smile. Cersei's eyes narrowed to angry slits, while Brienne dropped her gaze to the floor. Only Margaery gave a real response. <br/><br/>“Jaime! It's good to see you again!” She gave him a half hug that was probably only awkward due to the situation.</p>
<p>“Likewise,” he said, pulling back. “What are you three gossiping about? Is it me?” He smiled again, watching Brienne's face grow impossibly redder. Her mouth opened and he was sure she was going to stammer something as uncomfortable as she looked, but Cersei beat her to it.</p>
<p>“Brother,” she said slowly, “What are you doing here?” It wasn't a statement, so much as a demand that he go away. Jaime knew that, but decided to press his luck anyway.</p>
<p>“The food will be served soon. I wanted to make sure Brienne knows where we're seated.” Brienne's eyes widened slightly, and again, he found himself struck by their color. Even if he didn't plan to marry her, he regretted their introduction and hoped rescuing her from his sister would give them a chance to start fresh.<br/><br/>“I—” Brienne started.</p>
<p>“I'm sure she can find her chair,” Cersei cut in, glowering in a way Jaime knew he'd pay for later.</p>
<p>“Just the same,” he said, reminding her she couldn't do anything right now, “May I show you to your seat?” He extended an arm to Brienne, while Margaery swooned in the background. Brienne, on the other hand, was all suspicion, brow furrowed as she eyed him. She reached a hesitant hand toward his extended arm, fingertips grazing him like he was a cockroach or some other creature she'd only touch if forced. But, she took it just the same, nodding.</p>
<p>“Margaery, if we don't talk again tonight, I'll see you tomorrow.” She held her head high. “It was nice to meet you, Cersei.”<br/><br/>“Sorry about that,” Jaime whispered, as he led her away.</p>
<p>“Are you?” Brienne asked, studying him warily from the corner of her eye. Oh. She was feistier than he'd imagined.</p>
<p>“I am. And I'm sorry for what I said yesterday.”<br/><br/>“Good,” she answered.<br/><br/>“Good,” he felt much more settled, pulling her seat out for her. “Let's start over,” he extended his hand. “I'm Jaime Lannister.”<br/><br/>If Brienne had looked at him like some kind of insect before, now she looked at him like he was pure poison. “I know who you are.”<br/><br/>“Yes, obviously. But we're starting over. Like you don't.” Why was he explaining this to her? Was she stupid as well as ugly?<br/><br/>“I never agreed to that.”<br/><br/>Jaime blinked. Why was she being so obtuse? He knew he had Cersei to contend with later and enough on his mind otherwise. The last thing Jaime needed was a complete lack of cooperation from his bride-to-be. “Okay,” he drew out. “I had thought perhaps,” he paused with a slight shift of his chin, urging her to consider the proposition, “it would be in our mutual interest to at least get along. We could possibly even find a way out of this.” He chose his most convincing grin.</p>
<p>Intrigue flashed through Brienne's eyes, then something else. She shook her head. “I don't think so.”<br/><br/>“Why are you being this way,” Jaime demanded, his composure dropping. <br/><br/>“I don't like you,” Brienne hissed back.</p>
<p>By now, others were beginning to take their seats and Jaime found himself grateful that his father was still across the room. He hoped whatever political scheme he was involved in would hold his attention long enough for Jaime to smooth this over. Tywin had already ripped into him over the man comment and Jaime was sure he was one misstep away from being disowned. He ignored the few sets of eyes that were watching. None of them mattered.</p>
<p>“You don't even know me!”</p>
<p>Brienne laughed, a single sarcastic bark that surprised Jaime and somehow made him wish to hear her laugh for real. “I don't know you?” she asked, blue eyes jumping to life. “Oh I know you. By first grade, I was already a head taller than every boy in my class. By fifth, they'd made sure I knew every single thing wrong with me. I was too big, too freckled. I laughed too loud, my nose was crooked, I didn't know how to dress... And puberty!” Jaime winced, aware that more than a few people had started to stare, but Brienne seemed like she was just beginning. “Let's talk about puberty. 'You'll grow into yourself, Brienne,'” she mimicked, “'You'll fill out as you grow older.' Except I didn't. My waist stayed thick and my chest stayed flat, I still can't find clothes that fit right and last I checked, my hair is always just going to do whatever it wants. I already know everything wrong with me, Jaime Lannister,” she spat his name like it was the most vile thing she'd ever tasted. “I've been hearing it my entire life. I've been hearing it from men just like you.” She stopped, red and panting. Jaime focused on the small vein, pulsing in her forehead, before dropping his gaze to his drink.<br/><br/>“There are no men like me,” he muttered, swallowing his whiskey in one gulp to chase the bitterness from his mouth. “Only me.” Brienne didn't appear to have a response to that, so they sat in miserable silence. Jaime opened his mouth to break it once, twice, only to snap it shut again when words didn't come to him. It was going to be a long dinner.<br/><br/>It was going to be a long life.<br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Photos, dessert, and a fun nickname. Every step forward means a giant leap back.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Can you guys just...” Roz, their photographer, stopped, pressing her fingers to her eyes, in a physical show of her frustration. She blew out a breath before setting her camera down and stepping toward the couple.</p>
<p>“Jaime,” she instructed with the exasperation of someone saying something for the five hundredth time, “Your hand needs to be here.” She picked up the appendage and placed it on Brienne's knee. Brienne flinched. “Brienne!” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Could you stop acting repulsed every time Jaime touches you? These are supposed to be engagement photos! You need to look like you can't wait for the happiest day of your lives.” She touched Brienne's cheek, turning her face every so slightly, prodded at Jaime, then moved back to her camera.</p>
<p>“Okay, let's try smiling again. No, not like that. Like you mean it. This is—Do you guys even like each other?”<br/><br/>“No,” Brienne spat.<br/><br/>“Not really,” added Jaime.<br/><br/>It had been five days since the welcoming party and in those five days, that seemed to be the only point on which they agreed.</p>
<p>Roz stared at them like they were the breathing equivalent of a headache. “Take a break!” she announced, probably more for herself than for Jaime or Brienne.</p>
<p>It had been hours, and Brienne, who hated having her picture taken under any circumstances, briefly considered how hard it would be to swim back to Tarth. It was a gorgeous day, the sun warm on her shoulders and the air fragrant from the garden's peak bloom. She even found herself almost comfortable in the fluttery yellow sundress Donyse had insisted would be perfect for the photos. What a shame to waste it here with Jaime.</p>
<p>They'd hardly spoken since she'd unloaded on him at the dinner and she cringed at the memory. She didn't know what had come over her. It wasn't that he hadn't deserved everything she'd said, but she had made quite a spectacle. Word of that had reached her father, and again, he had besought her to give Jaime a chance. Get to know him.</p>
<p>She didn't want to give him a chance. She already knew what he was.</p>
<p>“This would go a lot faster if you'd stop being so stubborn.” He scooted back from their forced embrace and Brienne hoped he'd end up with grass stains on his perfectly fitted jeans.</p>
<p>“I'm being stubborn?” She craned her neck to glare at him. “You're the one who isn't posing right.”<br/><br/>“I pose fine,” he shot back. “I pose for magazines all the time. I'm just not used to such a miserable partner.”<br/><br/>“Have you considered that perhaps you're the reason I'm so miserable?” Jaime's eyes lit at that and Brienne got the odd sense he enjoyed it when she engaged him this way. It made her hate him even more.</p>
<p>“Me? Oh, I'm delightful.” He plucked at a blade of grass, studying it as though it contained his next great insult.</p>
<p>“You're arrogant.”<br/><br/>“It's not arrogance if it's me,” he smirked, making her even more certain this was fun for him. She should stop. She knew better, knew that continuing this weird verbal sparring was just one more way of letting him win. But she couldn't help herself.</p>
<p>“You're rude and classless.” True. “And not nearly as attractive as you think you are.” A lie. “Plus you're a...a...a bad person!” A bad person? It was a shitty insult. This was why arguing with him was a terrible idea. Her notion that she might land a hit against someone as quick as Jaime deflated. What did he care if she thought he was a bad person? He didn't. He probably didn't even care that he <em>was </em>a bad person. Which was why his flare of anger caught her off guard.</p>
<p>“You don't even know me!” Brienne had thought provoking him would have made her feel better, but she wasn't so sure it did. His green eyes were hard and accusatory and she fought the urge to look away.</p>
<p>She held his eye, meaningfully. “I know enough,” she shrugged, after a painful beat passed between them.<br/><br/>“I know what this is about,” he said, rolling his eyes as he dropped his stare to the ground. The name Aerys hung, unspoken, between them. For a moment, Brienne thought he might elaborate. Instead, Jaime shifted things back to her. “You know what you are?” He looked back up, making it clear he was going to tell her, whether she wanted to know or not. Brienne was ready. There was nothing he could call her that she hadn't already been called by countless men just like him before.</p>
<p>“You're a harpy.”<br/><br/>Brienne froze. Had she heard him correctly? Did he know? How had he— Had he found her pills or something? “Why would you say that?”<br/><br/>Jaime ignored her, continuing. “You're a big, stubborn, ugly, judgmental harpy,” he looked incredibly self-satisfied, but Brienne barely had time to register that against her own racing thoughts. “That's right. I tried to apologize for...before. You're the one who won't let it go. So go on and keep making things worse for both of us. Harpy.”</p>
<p>Brienne's heart continued to thud against her rib cage as she struggled to maintain some semblance of control. Okay. This was okay. It wasn't—it was rude and cruel and Jaime was still an asshole, but he wasn't an asshole who knew her darkest secret. The secret he could, potentially, be the cure for. If he wasn't such a rude, cruel asshole anyway.</p>
<p>“I hate you.” It was immature but she didn't care, as long as it changed the subject.<br/><br/>“I hate you more.” Good.<br/><br/>A cough sounded behind them. Brienne twisted her neck to see the photographer. “I take it we're ready to fail at engagement photos again?”</p>
<p>“I don't know,” Jaime motioned to her, full of venom, “Ask the harpy.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Brienne stared at the woman in the mirror that hung above her bathroom sink. Her long fingers traced the outline of her face, the too square jaw, the ridge where her nose had been broken. They dotted across the countless freckles. She looked down and sighed. Was any of this worth it?</p>
<p>She reached into the back of a drawer, retrieving a small vial, unscrewed the top, and tipped a capsule into her hand.<br/><br/>Jaime had called her out today. He didn't know it but it had still shaken her enough that getting through the rest of the photos had been disastrous. Fear, of being found out, of being even more rejected than she'd already been, tainted every pose, and by the end of the shoot, her insecurities had swollen so greatly she'd barely been able to breathe. Jaime had stalked off the moment Roz had shaken her disappointed head, promising to do her best in editing. Brienne hoped she was a sorcerer.</p>
<p>After the pictures, she'd met her father for dinner. At the time, she'd been grateful to flee into the city, away from the Lannister estate, but forcing herself through the motions was a challenge she'd barely met. Perhaps she could have told her father about Jaime's accusation, about the new pet name he seemed to have adopted for her, but Selwyn, somehow, seemed overjoyed and enthusiastic. He blamed himself for the curse and saw this as a way of setting things right. Brienne wasn't ready to take that from him.<br/><br/>Shaking away her thoughts, she swallowed the capsule, and washed away the heavy herbal taste it left behind with a glug of water from the tap. She filled her cupped hands again, this time splashing it over her face. The image in the mirror remained the same. What did it matter if she broke the curse? Her reflection wasn't much better as a woman than it would be as a harpy.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>“Why are you blaming me?” Jaime ran his hands over his forehead. It had been a long day and the harpy had all but thrown Aerys in his face earlier. He'd thought he could retreat to his safe place, to the only person in the world who truly understood him. That thought had turned out to be wrong.</p>
<p>“You're not stopping it,” Cersei waved angrily, pacing her childhood bedroom. He vaguely wondered what she'd told Robert before she came here. Which friends she lied about being out with. He was too tired to dwell on it and he didn't understand why she was being so difficult. “You're not doing anything,” her tirade continued. “You're skipping through life like you always do, like if you ignore this long enough, it'll just go away.”</p>
<p>Jaime dropped his head to his hands and massaged his temples. Tension ran across his hunched shoulders and he could see that coming here, of all places, had been a mistake. They'd had this conversation at least three times already. He understood Cersei's anger, but he didn't get why it was directed at him. “What would you have me do?”</p>
<p>“Don't do it.” She held her hands up at the obvious suggestion. It was the same thing she'd repeated the last three times he'd asked. “Tell it to go home.”<br/><br/><em>It</em>. As if Brienne hadn't even registered as a person to her. Jaime felt something tug at him, as the word harpy floated back. <em>No. </em>He put a quick stop that. One problem at a time. “Father says that white haired bitch has increased her demands.”<br/><br/>Cersei turned at that. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“She doesn't want her own father's seat anymore. She wants our father's.” Tywin has shared that yesterday. Evidently, Daenerys had somehow conjured a foreign army and was threatening war on the Westerosi Union if he didn't resign his seat to her. If he did, she'd allow all them to flee back west. Even Jaime. Tywin would never cede his position though.</p>
<p>Jaime watched as Cersei contemplated that, eyes narrow and calculating. “Father didn't say anything to me.” He lifted his head slightly to study her. If anything, she was the person his father should be keeping apprised of these matters. Seven knew that out of Tywin's three children, Jaime was the least interested in political matters, yet somehow the only one his father discussed them with. “Never mind,” she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “What does that have to do with you getting married?”<br/><br/>It was a fair question, one Jaime had pondered, himself. Besides an alliance with some no name tourist trap island no one else cared about, apparently, people love a good spectacle. The wedding would win the favor of the common idiots. “He says it'll be good for keeping the peace. You know, with the people.” Council members served for life, but those lives could be precariously short if the people grew restless enough. Cersei sipped her wine, unimpressed, so he took a different route. “Things are falling apart, Cers... Did you know they call for revolution? When the North secedes—”</p>
<p>“If the North secedes—”</p>
<p>“<em>When</em> the North secedes...what then?”<br/><br/>“<em>If </em>the North secedes, so what? Stark is still Robert's best friend and he'll still ally with us for that. Trade will continue, things won't really change that much. And then we'll handle that Targaryen bitch when we need to.” She smiled at him. “You're an old pro at that.”<br/><br/>Splashed with Aerys' blood twice in one day. It was bad enough coming from the harpy, but from his own sister...Cersei knew. She knew! Maybe not everything, but she knew enough and she still attacked him with it. Jaime twisted his hands together hard enough to hurt. Nothing she had said had even come close to answering Tywin's order. “And Father?”</p>
<p>Cersei huffed out her frustration and thought a moment, swirling the wine in her glass. “Maybe you don't have to go against him,” she said. Jaime glanced up, hearing the plan forming in her voice. “You could kill her.”</p>
<p>Kill her? Kill who? Brienne? Jaime stared at his sister, horror struck. “Kill...Brienne?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Jaime, kill Brienne,” she repeated, like he was a stupid kid she had to use small, slow words with. When had she gotten so good at Father's patented condescension? Jaime shook his head, bile creeping up his throat. Was that all she saw him as? Someone who would just callously dispose of others without a second thought?<br/><br/>“I'm not a murderer,” he mumbled, low, almost as if trying to reassure himself.<br/><br/>“Aren't you,” she said, staring pointedly from beneath raised eyebrows. It was like a punch, all the wind knocked from Jaime's lungs. The whispers from the staff, on the streets, in the capitol buildings...the whispers stung, but hearing it from his sister? Jaime felt a crack run through his heart.</p>
<p>“No,” he affirmed. “I'm not a murderer and I'm not going to kill Brienne.” His chest continued to clench painfully.<br/><br/>Cersei merely shrugged, clearly not as affected by this conversation as Jaime was. “Pity. Probably would have been better for her too,” she dismissed. Before Jaime could argue, she directed the conversation back to Tywin. “So I guess you'll just have to tell him no then.”<br/><br/>“Father?”<br/><br/>“Yes. Father,” her tone returned to scathing. “Father says jump and you ask how high. Why don't you take charge of your own life for a change? Just tell him no.”</p>
<p>“Just tell him no?” Jaime was incredulous.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she demanded, before softening. “Tell him no.” She set down her glass, then she was next to him, hands in his hair, long nails scraping over his scalp, down his neck. “Tell him you're not doing it, you're staying here. Nothing changes.” She touched his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers, pleading. He could see it in their depths, him telling his father no, demanding to live his life on his terms, as he wanted. But then her eyes were swallowed by something else, something blue and dizzying. <em>You could kill her. </em>How had she said that so casually? Why was he always the one giving?<br/><br/>“Tell him no,” she continued, whispering against his temple and Jaime felt something in him snap.<br/><br/>“Oh, like you did?” he spat bitterly.</p>
<p>Cersei leapt back from him like he burned. “What did you say?”<br/><br/>“No, I mean it. I'm supposed to tell him no, go against father, just like you did, right?” That wound had existed between them for more than a decade and Jaime tore it off in three short words. He didn't even care. He had come to her for comfort but instead, she'd dismissed him, insulted him, and hit him with Aerys. She'd asked him to kill for her, in cold blood, as if he was the kind of person who wouldn't hesitate to do it. She hadn't even entertained the thought of telling Father to fuck off when he'd married her to Robert.<br/><br/>“I didn't have a choice!” she seethed. “I was barely past childhood. What else was I supposed to do?”<br/><br/>“You just get the best of everything, don't you? One Councilor's daughter, another's wife? And stupid me on the side when both of them treat you like little more than an accessory.” Jaime didn't care about the wild flash of hurt in her eyes. That one truth had opened the flood gates and everything he'd held in since he'd left college and his own dreams behind rushed out. “Meanwhile, I get disowned. Thrown out. What do I have left? I've already given up everything else to be here. With you.”<br/><br/>The hurt quickly morphed into anger. “How dare you?” She growled, slapping him hard across the face. “Get out!” she hissed, barely audible over the pounding blood in his veins.<br/><br/>“Fine!” He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting on. Coming here was a mistake. Everything about his relationship with her had been. Trying to hide his wobbly legs, he crossed the room to the door.<br/><br/>“Get out!” she screamed, louder this time, her wine glass hurtling past him, shattering against the wall next to the door. He yanked it open and slammed it shut behind him, cutting off the downpour of insults that rained from her mouth.</p>
<p>He didn't stop outside her room, instead stomping down the hall, muttering to himself. His anger fresh and scathing as he stormed aimlessly through the house, not caring who saw him. He needed some air.</p>
<p>A door was open when he reached the massive second story balcony that overlooked the back garden. It didn't register with him as he tore it open, practically throwing himself outside, still seething with rage. A moment later, a pair of big, blue eyes locked on his.<br/><br/><em>Brienne</em>.</p>
<p>They froze, staring at one another, as if each were prey to other's predator. Her eyes were owlishly wide, rimmed in red that made them appear bluer than he'd thought possible. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. He stood, mesmerized, unable to speak, to think, to look away. She seemed chained by the same spell. How were her eyes so blue?<br/><br/>She blinked twice, turned, and fled.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p><br/>Brienne's fork scraped against her plate. It was the kind of sound that would ordinarily set her teeth on edge, but here in the Lannister's imposing dining room, it was a welcome break in the silence. Much better than Jaime's loud chewing, which she knew he was only doing to annoy her. She sneaked a glance up at him. He was staring, sullen, at his plate, clearly enjoying the meal as much as she was.</p>
<p>Dinner was her dad's idea, though she didn't know how he'd gotten Councilman Lannister to agree. Jaime's father didn't seem to care one way or another how much she and Jaime despised each other. They were supposed to be talking. Getting to know one another. Finding the things about each other that they liked, there had to be something likable, Selwyn insisted. Instead, they were three courses deep into a miserable silence, punctuated only by the scrape of utensils, an occasional cough, and that godsawful chewing.</p>
<p>It had been three days since the balcony incident and neither of them had brought it up. Not that she'd interacted with him much in those three days, having been too busy with one wedding related task after another, enjoying the time with both Margaery and Pia, but when she was alone at night, the balcony haunted her.</p>
<p>He'd been furious that night, bursting through door, eyes simmering with rage. In retrospect, she probably should have done something, said something, but she'd been too stunned to react, instead just staring at him, trying to figure out if he was really there. He'd stared back, hard, like he couldn't look away and she'd watched that anger dissipate into something else. It had seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Like he was afraid of her. Since then, she'd felt him staring often. At first she thought it was her imagination, but twice she'd caught him. Both times he'd jerked his gaze to something else, but when she looked away again, she could feel his eyes return. She was certain if she looked up from her plate, she'd catch him again.<br/><br/>Had he figured out her secret? <em>Was</em> he afraid of her?<br/><br/>Brienne shook away the icy finger that ran down her back. Of course he didn't know. More likely, she was just the train wreck that had entered his life. No one could look away from a good train wreck. She scraped her fork against her plate again, this time intentional, to ground herself. He rewarded her with a particularly noisy bite.</p>
<p>“Do you have to do that?” The sound of her own voice surprised her.<br/><br/>“Do what?” he feigned innocence.</p>
<p>“The chewing. It's disgusting.” She caught a hint of a smirk.<br/><br/>“I'm just eating my dinner. Never asked for company.” He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, staring her dead in the eye as he did.</p>
<p>“Well you have it anyway,” she spat back, even more certain he was enjoying this.</p>
<p>He looked her up and down, still chewing, before giving a thick swallow. “And what fine company you are. Lucky I can eat at all with your sour face staring at me. Harpy.” The last word was muttered, under his breath.<br/><br/>Brienne dropped her fork. “You think I want to be here? What, that I'm enjoying this?”</p>
<p>“Then go back to your island,” he said, filling her with the urge to do exactly that. Then she thought of her father. Of their people. The curse aside, she was in pretty deep now and the idea of what Tywin Lannister could do to them—likely would do to them—if she backed out now, floated through her mind. She watched Jaime stuff another bite of food into his mouth. What had she gotten herself into?<br/><br/>Brienne deflated. “I wish I could.”<br/><br/>That caught his attention and he looked up at her, not the mocking smirk or uncomfortable stare, just a vaguely confused look. Like he was seeing her for the first time. Then he started to laugh, but he wasn't laughing at her. He was laughing like she should laugh too. Like someone told a funny joke only they could understand. “We're really fucked, aren't we?”<br/><br/>Experience told her to keep fighting, but he didn't seem like he was fighting anymore. Instead, she laughed with him. It was joyless, but at least it wasn't lonely. “Yeah. I guess we are.”<br/><br/>They lulled into another silence, but he chewed like a normal person and she quit scraping her plate. She'd nearly finished the main course when he surprised her by speaking again.<br/><br/>“What do you do? On Tarth...like, for fun?”<br/><br/>Pausing at the bizarre turn things had taken, she tried to figure out how to answer. Growing up, Brienne had never really had friends. It was a small island and everyone there knew her, but fun for her was more along the lines of a good book or a stroll through the museum. Maybe a swim in the ocean when the weather was nice. She imagined how hard he'd laugh at those answers. When she looked up, he was waiting, straining for patience.</p>
<p>“Oh. I um...mostly...” He was being nice, she reminded herself. “We have a small museum. I run it, so I spend most of my time there.” She didn't add the 'voluntarily'.<br/><br/>“A museum,” Jaime's face lit up. “What kind of museum?”<br/><br/>Brienne hadn't expected genuine interest and his enthusiastic response was a little jarring. “History. Mostly Tarth's history, but I try to work the rest of the world in when I can. We have an exhibit now on the first female knight and she...” Brienne realized she was rambling. “I'm sorry. I majored in history in college and get a little overzealous.” She thought of his accusations at the photo shoot. “I don't mean to be boring.”<br/><br/>“This is the most interesting you've been since we met,” Jaime replied, quickly adding, “That's not an insult.” Brienne had surprised herself by not taking it as one. “You majored in history? Where?”</p>
<p>“University of Storms End.” Biting her lip, she fought a smile at the face he made. “Where did you go?”<br/><br/>“Here. Well, I started at Casterly, but I graduated from KLU. Transferred after freshman year. Either way, better than Storms End,” he teased and she glared at him without any real hostility. It occurred to her that they were talking, not like they were forced into it, but like real people. She didn't want it to stop.</p>
<p>“What did you major in?”<br/><br/>He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Political science. Thanks, dad.” Jaime was still smiling, but it wasn't the real smile from a few minutes ago. Instead, he was somewhere far away, with smile of someone who had never had an ounce of control over his own life. She was battered with the realization that it wasn't just her and the wedding. This was something he was used to.</p>
<p>Whatever had been building between them was lost and she wanted to snatch the question back. Idly, she poked at the desert that had somehow materialized before her, careful not to scrape her fork.</p>
<p>“But I wanted to major in history.” His blurted admission seemed to shock him as much as it did her. “My dad,” he shrugged.<br/><br/>“Yeah.”<br/><br/>The conversation threatened to die again, and Brienne racked her brain for something to say to stop it from going awkward. Why was she so bad at this? In the end, it was the dessert that saved her. Or doomed her. Later, she wouldn't be sure.</p>
<p>“I've had this one before,” Jaime pointed his fork at her plate. “It's good.”<br/><br/>“Oh!” Brienne felt the blush she'd managed to keep at bay spread across her face. “You want mine? I don't eat sugar.”<br/><br/>Jaime deadpanned. “You don't eat sugar?”</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>“Like, at all?” He sounded skeptical.<br/><br/>She nodded.</p>
<p>“Is this a weight thing?”<br/><br/>“No!” Who did he think he was? She wondered it the speck of progress they'd made had merely been an accident. “It's not a weight thing...it's a health thing.” She held her head high, not caring if she sounded a little sanctimonious. “I like being healthy.”<br/><br/>Jaime watched her, unimpressed. “Harpy—”</p>
<p>“Brienne,” she reminded him.<br/><br/>“Harpy,” he corrected, “One dessert won't make you unhealthy.” He was looking at her like she was the most frustrating thing that ever happened but somehow he didn't mind it. Smiling despite herself, she wondered when their forced date had become not so bad. When he had become not so bad?</p>
<p>Then Jaime shoveled a huge bite of his own dessert into his mouth, closing his eyes and savoring it. Brienne looked away, a hot flush spreading over her face. Dessert should not look that scandalous. “It's so good,” he insisted, drawing her back to his face in time to see his tongue dart across his lips. Her face went a shade pinker. She should not be thinking of him that way. They weren't even friends! “You should try it,” he urged, licking the back of his fork. She watched him trace the silver tines, aware of his own eyes staring back at her. It was mesmerizing. “You look like you want to try it.”<br/><br/>Brienne shook her head breaking free from the trance. What was she doing, letting him mess with her like this? “I'm really good. Thanks,” she managed to sputter, but he just watched her more intently. He really was absurdly handsome.</p>
<p>A hint of a smile, maybe from the chocolate, maybe from knowing he was getting to her, tugged the corners of his mouth. “Harpy...” he drawled, keeping her attention. “Try it, harpy...” Brienne tried to look bored, knowing her splotchy red face condemned her anyway. “Treat yourself.”<br/><br/>Feeling her resolve crumble, she picked up her fork. Jaime was smiling now, biting his lower lip triumphantly, like he'd won some competition. She didn't even want the dessert, she just needed him to stop looking at her like that. She dipped the very edge of the fork into the thick chocolate., drawing it to her mouth. Her eyes widened.</p>
<p>Godsdammit, it was ambrosial.<br/><br/>“See?” Jaime burst out laughing, whatever game he'd been playing dissipating like a cloud of smoke. “I told you it was good.” There was no point in arguing, no matter how much she wanted to. “If you eat the rest, I'll give you all my best workout tips.”<br/><br/>This evening was a metaphor for her life—not what she expected and spiraling quickly out of her control. “I don't need your workout tips.”<br/><br/>“No, but you want them,” he grinned.<br/><br/>In the end, Brienne did finish the dessert. Conversation began to flow more easily, things less awkward and stilted. They talked about everything from exercise to Westerosi history, and while she wasn't exactly comfortable with him, she had begun to suspect he was more than just the asshole who'd called her a man. More than just his reputation. With their plates cleared, she found herself sad that they'd wasted so much of the time silently fighting. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been here. Although she'd had more social engagements in the Capitol than she'd ever had at home, they all revolved around the wedding. It was nice to sit and talk about anything else. He insisted on calling her Harpy, but the more he did it, the less it shook her, and over the evening, it had become an annoying pet name rather than an accusation. And she was genuinely surprised by how much she and Jaime actually did have in common. A vision of them strolling through one of Kings Landing's museums rooted in her head and wouldn't leave. She idly thought about inviting him out this week, during one of her short breaks from the relentless wedding plans.</p>
<p>When he tried to talk her into a cup of coffee, she almost agreed. Coffee this late would be a stupid choice, but she didn't exactly want to leave. Her medication made the decision for her though. She had to get back.</p>
<p>“I...actually had a good time,” she admitted, standing to head back to her rooms. <em>The museum</em>, her brain screamed. <em>Ask him!</em> She fought it into silence.</p>
<p>“Me too, Harpy,” he smiled, the real smile, which she'd learned to pick out from the others. “We'll do it again, I'm sure.” It was the perfect opening, but she couldn't make the words come. Instead she nodded. “I'll chew extra loud next time,” he grinned.</p>
<p>Brienne rolled her eyes. “Good night, Jaime.”<br/><br/>“Night, Brienne.”<br/><br/>She retreated to her rooms, cursing herself as a coward.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p><br/>Despite himself, Jaime had a spring in his step as he wandered the halls back to his room. Not only had dinner exceeded his expectations, it had actually been fun. The harpy wasn't as boring as he'd initially thought, by the end of it, bantered easily with him. She was super into history, something he could appreciate, and he'd discovered how easy it was to fuck with her, drawing red blushes across her pale cheeks. He couldn't wait to do it again.</p>
<p>He still had no idea how they were going to stop the whole marriage thing, but he'd begun seeing her less as an enemy and more as an ally. She was clearly as trapped in this as he was, only he suspected she wasn't as familiar with having her life dictated against her will. If they did have to go through with it, maybe they could at least be friends. Friendly? Not enemies.</p>
<p>“How was your little...date?”</p>
<p>The joy skittered out of him. Cersei leaned against the wall, next to his door, daring him to say the wrong thing. They hadn't spoken, hadn't really even seen one another since the fight. Where he should have been thrilled to see her, an abrupt stone of dread sunk to the pit of his stomach instead.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he said cautiously, waiting for her to bite. “What are you doing here?”<br/><br/>She stared icily at him a moment, then her shoulders sagged in resolve. She stepped forward wrapping her arms around him. “I missed you. That's all.”</p>
<p>Relief flooded him as he returned her embrace, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her scent. “I missed you too,” he whispered, his chest painfully tight. His mind flashed with the briefest thought of Brienne, of what they would they would do, how they would get out of this, but then Cersei's mouth was on his, hot and frantic and the only thing that mattered.</p>
<p>Cersei was never this insistent, backing him against the wall, nails raking through his hair. Normally she wouldn't even touch him until they were safely behind closed doors and Jaime let himself drown in it, in being wanted, in not having to chase her for once. Her teeth nipped at a spot on his neck and he stretched upward, giving her better access, wanting more and—</p>
<p>Something shattered at the end of the hall. Jaime jerked his head up to see Brienne, mouth open, arms hanging limply by her sides. She held two saucers, cups of what was presumably coffee, broken at her feet.</p>
<p>Oh no.</p>
<p>Oh fuck.</p>
<p>He felt Cersei lift her head, looking over her shoulder and he knew exactly which glittering smirk she wore, but he was too threaded with horror to care. Brienne's eyes blinked, pools of disbelief as round as the saucers still suspended dumbly from her hands. Her mouth moved without sound. Jaime's chin shook..</p>
<p>Words finally caught up to Brienne. “I...I should...Sorry.” She spun running in the direction she'd come from.<br/><br/>Fuck.</p>
<p>Jaime pushed his sister away. “Brienne,” he called. “Brienne, wait! I—” he jogged several steps down the hallway, but she was gone.<br/><br/>Blood pounded against his temples, the thrum of a headache he knew he'd have all night. Cersei slithered back over.<br/><br/>“It was bringing you coffee!” she laughed blithely. “She must have really thought—oh well, problem solved, I guess.”</p>
<p>Jaime turned his head slowly. She was laughing. Brienne didn't matter, hells, he didn't matter. She'd gotten what she wanted and she was <em>laughing</em>. He watched her pull something out of the pocket of her red romper.</p>
<p>“I just came by to give you this,” she dropped a small vial into his hand. “But you might not need it now. Keep it just in case though.”<br/><br/>His dropped his brow, questioning. “What is...?”<br/><br/>“What do you think it is, dummy? To make our problem go away. They won't know it was you... It'll just look like a heart attack or something. No blood.”<br/><br/>Realization set in. She was still on this shit. She still thought he just killed people. That he'd kill Brienne.<br/><br/>The urge to scream, to shake her, to hit her, blasted him. His hands shook, as the rage pumped deeper through his veins. He stared at her. She was radiant. She was poison, just like the little vial still clutched in his fist. The anger washed away as quickly as it had come, leaving him nothing but exhausted and empty.</p>
<p>“Go home, Cersei.”<br/><br/>Her mouth dropped open in affront. “What?”<br/><br/>Jaime raked his hand over his face. “Go. Home.”</p>
<p>A storm filled her eyes as his words sunk in. “You're mad at <em>me</em>? You stupid bastard, how dare—”</p>
<p>He slipped through his door, locking her and her litany of insults on the other side. A brutal tattoo pounded in his head. He should find Brienne and...and...and what? There was no apology suitable for this. He should run away. He had valuables and could be halfway to Essos before morning. No one would know who he was and he could start over, away from all of this. He should give Brienne space, talk to her in the morning. Explain that this existed long before her and he was working through some things and—</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>What had he done?</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A conversation changes everything. A party changes even more.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne's hands shook as she stuffed the last of her belongings into her suitcase. She was leaving. She'd tell her father in the morning that she'd tried, really tried, and there was simply no way it would work. Anger at an earlier memory surged through her. She'd almost let him convince her he wasn't the monster she'd thought him to be. That he could be fun and charming and make her laugh. How stupid of her! This was a house of horrors, this family was a nightmare she wanted to wake up from.</p>
<p>She dropped to the bed, taking a calming breath. Her new clothes still hung in the closet. There was no memory of this place she wanted to take with her.</p>
<p>His sister! Revulsion shuddered through her. She hated to admit it, but a lot of things snapped into place. Like why he was being married to her to begin with. Why he hadn't managed to find a suitable wife on his own. It wasn't that she expected them to have a normal marriage. Brienne knew what she looked like, what he looked like, what their families expected. She'd resigned herself to the idea that he'd probably have women on the side, even. But his own sister?</p>
<p>It was too much. Everything here was too much.</p>
<p>A knock at the door jarred her from her thoughts. It was too late to be Pia and Jaime certainly wouldn't... Would he?<br/><br/>He'd been kind at dinner. Made her laugh. Forced her to eat the godsdamned mind blowing dessert. He was making out with his sister.</p>
<p>The knock came again. She should ignore it. Pretend to be asleep. There was nothing she wanted to say to him. She crossed the room and yanked it open anyway.</p>
<p>It wasn't Jaime at all.</p>
<p>“Can I come in,” Tyrion asked, Brienne too nonplussed to do anything but nod dumbly. She'd met him a couple times and twenty minutes ago, he'd reclaimed his spot as her favorite Lannister.</p>
<p>The small man stepped through the doorway, circling the room, eyes darting over every surface. He noted the pile of suitcases. “You're leaving?” Brienne nodded again, trying to catch up with what was happening. Tyrion ambled over to a chair and took it. “That's too bad,” he said, sounding like he really meant it. “You'd have been good for him. My brother. He sounded like he really enjoyed your company tonight.”</p>
<p>Brienne flashed with anger. What did she care what was good for Jaime? “Your brother—”</p>
<p>“Is fucking my sister. I know. Great disgusting mess.” Tyrion cringed and blew out a breath. “I was hoping you'd be the cure for that.”<br/><br/>“Obviously not,” Brienne said, still standing, unsure why the other man was here in the first place.</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Tyrion countered. “If anything, I'm certain of it now,” he didn't elaborate, just watched her with curious eyes as she hovered awkwardly. She became increasingly aware of herself, nervously taking the seat adjacent to him. At least it made her smaller.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” she finally asked.</p>
<p>“I mean he called me freaking out. He was going to come down here himself, but he didn't think you'd want to see him.”<br/><br/>“He was right,” she added quickly.<br/><br/>“That's not the point,” Tyrion brushed her off. Of course it was the point! She didn't want to see him. Preferably, she'd be on the way home tomorrow morning without ever seeing him again. But Tyrion continued. “The point is, Jaime has never cared who knew about their,” he shuddered, “relationship. The hiding was all Cersei, he only did for her. But he cared when you found them.”<br/><br/>“Because your father expects—”<br/><br/>“No. I mean, yes, my father has expectations, but Jaime didn't talk about my father. He talked about your museum. About how he practically had to twist your arm to make you eat some cake and how he couldn't wait to introduce you to new desserts. It wasn't my father he talked about. It was you. He cares what you think about him.”<br/><br/>Oh. Brienne hadn't expected that at all. Even without the Cersei incident, she had figured she was the only one who enjoyed the evening. She'd assumed he had merely tolerated it. She remembered how stupid she'd felt, carrying those cups of coffee, trying to convince herself he might actually want to show her around one of the museums. She felt even stupider now. “Why?”</p>
<p>“He likes you,” Tyrion shrugged. “I like you. You're a likeable person.” That didn't explain anything and Brienne lifted her eyebrows. “The people here...They all want something. You don't. I don't think Jaime knows what to do with that.”<br/><br/>Brienne considered that. Her own life had been lonely, but she had her father and a handful of people she may have casually called friends. She tried to imagine what it was like to grow up surrounded by people who couldn't wait to dig their claws into her. It only made her want to leave more.</p>
<p>They sat in silence for a while. Tyrion's scrutiny didn't feel like he was looking for flaws, but that didn't necessarily make it comfortable and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body, relieved when he finally spoke again.</p>
<p>“He's not a bad person.”<br/><br/>Brienne arched an unimpressed eyebrow.</p>
<p>“He's not,” Tyrion laughed. “I know there's no reason for you to believe it, gods know he hasn't given you one, but he's really not.” Brienne tried to focus on their first meeting, but that turned to thoughts of dinner and then dinner erupted with walking in on him and his sister. Tyrion could probably count every emotion that crossed her face. “It's this place. It's toxic. My father's toxic. My sister's toxic. I suspect if you do go through with it...get married...you won't be here long. My father will send you west to handle our estate there. Away from all the vultures...” He trailed off, as if he wasn't sure how to phrase what he had to say next. “Jaime from dinner...that's the real Jaime, the one I know. I thought I was the only person, but I think you can bring out that Jaime too.”</p>
<p>Brienne felt more confused than ever. She really had enjoyed his company that evening, enough that she had stupidly considered asking for more. But turning a blind eye to this was asking a lot and she was already painfully close to her limit. “What about you? What do you want?” She already knew exactly what he wanted.<br/><br/>“I want my brother to be happy,” he said slowly. “He doesn't realize it yet, but I think you're the best chance at that.” He flashed his teeth, his eyes pleading with her, “Stay. At least stay long enough to talk to him. He might make you happy too.”</p>
<p>Brienne sighed, her resolve to leave crumbling more than she liked. How could being married to a man who was sleeping with his sister possibly make her happy? She wished that dessert hadn't been so good. That his eyes hadn't lit so brightly when she talked about the museum.<br/><br/>Tyrion pulled himself from the chair, sauntering to the door. “I've taken enough of your time. But sleep on it. I hope I'll see you in the morning.”</p>
<p>Brienne didn't sleep at all that night, but when the sun's first rays stretched through the curtains, her suitcases were empty, stacked neatly back in the closet.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Jaime didn't know what Tyrion said to Brienne, but she was there, in the kitchens right on time. He'd thought of going early, to try talking to her, but he was even less sure of what he should say. Instead, he hung around, lurking in the corridors until he saw the first caterer arrive. She looked up at him as he entered, the look on her face indiscernible. All things considered, that was actually a good sign. A better one than loathing, at least.</p>
<p>The bad sign was that he cared so much and he couldn't figure out why. Since she'd arrived—no, since his father told him he was getting married, all he'd done was try to ditch her. He finally had the chance and what did he do? He stood in his own way. Sent his little brother to talk her into staying. That was never part of the plan.</p>
<p>But she'd listened to him last night, all blue eyes and undivided attention like what he had to say actually mattered. Like she saw him as a person.</p>
<p>He drew in a breath, steeling himself for the worst, crossed the room, and plunked down next to her. She didn't say anything, not immediately, just watched him like maybe she didn't know why she was still here either. The caterers, instead, broke the silence, noisily plunking down an array of sample platters. He wished it was cake today. He could probably win her over with cake.</p>
<p>“I'm glad you didn't leave,” he leaned over so she could hear his hushed tone. Beyond continuing to eye him warily, she didn't react. “Tyrion said you might and... Look I, uh...” He didn't know how to explain it. He wanted to promise it wouldn't happen again. Right now, he didn't want it to happen again. But his sister was a strong drug, and he never planned on getting married, at least not like this. He figured Tywin would get his way some day but it would just be a gold digger, in it for the money, who didn't give a blue fuck who he was as a person. The harpy cared. Even now, he could see it. The blue of her eyes was cautious, evaluating, and he watched her puzzle through her own emotions before seemingly reaching a conclusion.</p>
<p>“You're as trapped as I am,” she finally said. He nodded. It wasn't a peace, but he thought it might be an olive branch. “Okay,” she said and for some reason, her acceptance cut him more than the look in her eyes when she'd stormed off. “I guess, let's pick some food.”<br/><br/>It was easier than he thought it would be, but that didn't bring him any comfort. He didn't want her acceptance, he wanted it to be right. He wanted it to be the way it was yesterday. Before he could say anything else, Margaery bounded over, far more excited about this than either of them combined. He shot Brienne a rueful smile. She almost looked like she might return it.</p>
<p>By the third caterer, the final for the day, Jaime was ready to claw off his own skin. Brienne looked as bored as he was and he didn't take that as a good sign. He had hoped to make a little more progress but after all of this, he was sure the last thing she'd want to do was stick around and talk to him. All the food was basically the same anyway.</p>
<p>“Our sea bass is caught fresh daily, off the coast of our very own Blackwater Bay,” the caterer droned. Jaime didn't care. He didn't even look. He was too busy watching Brienne's eyelids droop sleepily.</p>
<p>“Harpy,” he leaned over, jarring her from her almost nap.</p>
<p>She jerked in her seat. “Brienne,” she hissed.</p>
<p>“Whatever. Let's leave.” The caterer ignored them, piling more samples onto a plate.</p>
<p>“What? We can't leave,” she whispered. “It would be rude!”</p>
<p>“All this talking is rude.”<br/><br/>Brienne shook her head, no. <br/><br/>He knew he shouldn't push his luck, but...<br/><br/>“I'm sorry,” Jaime interrupted the caterer, using his Lannister voice, the one that said he wasn't sorry at all. “This is all very interesting,” not even remotely interest, “but my beloved,” he looked Brienne up and down, relieved he could still make her blush, “is getting really tired.” She seethed. He struggled not to laugh. “Margaery, could you handle the rest of this? I think we're going to go.” <br/><br/>Margaery shot Brienne a look and Jaime watched a conversation unfold between their eyebrows. That it was happening wasn't nearly as sneaky as either of them thought it was, but he did wonder what they were saying. What Brienne had said about him. But then Margaery ended it with a sly thumbs up. “Of course I can,” she offered. “I'll drop any notes with Brienne later.”<br/><br/>Brienne appeared a bit lost at what had just happened as Jaime pulled her up and led her from the room. “What are you doing?” she hissed.<br/><br/>“I just got us out of there! You're welcome.” There. Now he had saved her almost as many times as he'd insulted her.</p>
<p>“Thanks?” She didn't look nearly as convinced and Jaime shook off a jolt of frustration, mostly at himself because he didn't understand why he needed to convince her.</p>
<p>He hadn't planned for after escaping the caterer. Figured things would work themselves out. She hadn't run away and that was fantastic, and it seemed like she wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. He couldn't blame her for that—he had no idea what to say either. Standing in the hallway, rocking awkwardly on her feet, she wouldn't quite look at him. But she still hadn't left. And she was speaking to him, at least superficially, in front of people.</p>
<p>Useless as an apology was in their situation, he opened his mouth to offer one anyway. She beat him to it. “Look, I don't know what your deal is,” she held up a hand, visibly stopping him from explanation, “I don't need or want to. I may have had unrealistic expectations and I may have acted based on those expectations instead of reality.”<br/><br/>“Brienne—”</p>
<p>“No, it's fine. I know you don't want to marry me.” He didn't, but he didn't want to hear her say it like that, so plainly, made his neck prickle. “Yesterday was...it's your life and I was thrown into it. I get it. I won't bring it up again.” That was exactly what he wanted, but somehow, it just made Jaime feel worse. Emptier. He didn't know how to explain it but he didn't like it. “Anyway,” she continued, “I just...I'm tired, I'm homesick, and everything is moving so fast. I just need a break.” She turned in the direction of her room.<br/><br/>He surprised himself, grabbing her arm. She flinched and the uneasy itch inside him grew. “What are you doing now?”<br/><br/>She glanced back a him, giving a half shrug. But she didn't tug her arm away. “Going back to my room for a nap, I guess.”<br/><br/>“Let's get out of here,” he blurted.</p>
<p>Her brow creased. “Where?”<br/><br/>“I dunno,” he admitted, his mouth continuing to make plans before his brain could catch up. Then an idea hit him. If she was homesick... “A museum, maybe?”<br/><br/>He watched her consider it, eyes flickering with something he didn't understand. For a moment he was certain she was going to reject him. But then she swallowed. Nodded. “Alright.”<br/><br/>Ten minutes later, his car pulled down the long driveway. It felt like toxic gas leaving his lungs.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Ouch!” Brienne shifted against the pushpin digging in to her left breast.<br/><br/>“Well, I need you to stand a little more still, dear,” Donyse's assistant said, three identical little needles sticking out of her mouth. “We need this done for tonight and we're running short on time.”<br/><br/>Tonight. The engagement party. The last real stop on the way to the wedding. Brienne wasn't sure why they needed an engagement party with the actual wedding so close. Besides, was being told you're getting married really even an engagement. Still, the train wobbled on, refusing to derail. Sometimes, Brienne wondered if she really wanted it to.</p>
<p>The museum had been delightful, showing her an entirely new side of Jaime. Perhaps Tyrion had it right because as in his element—and he had definitely been in his element—Jaime came alive. He dragged her enthusiastically from exhibit to exhibit, pointing out each of his favorites, making her forget the man splashed across the tabloids who insulted her and made out with his sister in hallways. He talked a mile a minute with a smile that lit up his eyes and for the first time all month, she could see a future given to her, rather than stolen for her. Then a worker told them the museum had closed fifteen minutes ago and they needed to leave. Jaime must have felt the same dread as her, because he'd taken the long way back, driving along the coast, but inevitably, they found their way back to the crushing pressure of family and responsibility and a wedding they only got a token say in.</p>
<p>They hadn't much time together since then, at least not outside the context of the wedding, with staff and eager to impress vendors hovering over them. Choosing a band had been almost fun and when they sampled cakes, he'd somehow coerced her into making up for a whole lifetime of not eating them. Jaime teased her relentlessly, poking at anything he thought might be a soft spot, and he refused to stop calling her Harpy, regardless of how many times she corrected him, but it lacked malice. It was almost like he wanted to make her laugh.</p>
<p>Two days ago, his aunt had held a bridal shower for her. It had been mostly exhausting, a bunch of people she didn't know fussing over her and giving compliments that were obviously fake. She'd thought the highlight was meeting Margaery's grandmother, who was, assuredly, an entire presence, but that wasn't the memory she looked back on with flushed cheeks and a secret smile. While opening her gifts, things far too lewd and lascivious to be opened in public at all, she'd looked up to see Jaime, leaning in the door frame, a smirk at the corners of his mouth. She'd flushed furiously and stuffed the garment back into its bag.</p>
<p>They played games with their eyes too. He stared openly now, like he didn't know what to make of her, either. When she caught him, sometimes he'd wink. He'd definitely winked at her shower. Once, she'd almost done it back, before catching herself. The teasing was his territory.</p>
<p>She liked him. She didn't know what she liked him as...an acquaintance, a friend...a husband... But she liked him and that terrified her. She didn't know him well enough to like him but she did. It was almost easier committing her life to someone she barely tolerated. Fewer feelings involved. She couldn't afford to let herself like him too much.</p>
<p>She sighed, sagging body rewarded with the bite of a dozen more pushpins. They hadn't spoken about the incident with his sister and as far as Brienne was concerned, they never would. She didn't want to know. He'd tried to talk to her that first day, when they'd ducked away from the caterer, but she shut it down and he seemed content enough with that. She hadn't spoken of it to anyone else, either. Not her Pia or Margaery. Not even her father. The notion that she'd be his glorified beard while she actually <em>liked </em><span>him stung far more than she was comfortable with. </span></p>
<p>Tonight, it was unavoidable. Cersei would be at the party. Brienne knew Cersei wouldn't out Jaime, simply because she wouldn't out herself, but there were a million other ways to make a scene and out of anyone, Brienne knew Jaime's twin was spiteful enough them. She shivered with dread.</p>
<p>“Hold still!” The older woman prodded her, less patient this time.<br/><br/>Brienne needed to get out of her head. She wanted to see the city, the real city, not just the small part behind the high walls, reserved for people like those she was marrying into. She wanted to find stores that sold old books and drink tea without a full security detail. She racked her brain, trying to put all the dates and appointments in order. Time had become a strange thing, constricting her into a rigid itinerary of stuffy, scheduled events that left her gasping for air. The wedding was next Saturday, a detail becoming increasingly difficult to shove to the back corner of her mind. Tonight she had the party, and between the two, a slurry of minor appointments, but she thought the day after tomorrow was entirely open. Order a car from her phone and slip out with no one knowing. Or...<br/><br/>Depending on which Jaime she got at the party tonight, maybe she'd ask him to take her. Even entertaining the notion flooded her with insecurity. It was stupid, like the hallway all over again. He had better things to do than play tour guide for her, even if—especially if—they'd be chained together for life in just over a week. But then she thought about the museum. His invitation had blindsided her and she wondered what would have happened if she'd just asked him at dinner instead of going back and forth, dragging it out until the worst possible moment. She should ask him. She didn't want to impose. He might be into it. He was into the museum, not her.<br/><br/>“There!” The seamstress said, beaming at her work. Margaery squealed and clapped her hands as Pia led her to a three way mirror. Brienne looked up and gasped. It wasn't one of those stupid TV movies where she didn't recognize herself. She did. Her hair was still limp, hanging around her too broad face. Her nose was still bent, too many freckles danced across skin that was still too red. She still looked exactly like her. But something in the flowing sapphire chiffon draped across her body in a way that was just right instead of too much, made her feel unstoppable. She could do this. All of it.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“You want me to what?” Jaime balked. <br/><br/>He hadn't known what to expect, waiting outside the hall for the harpy to arrive so they could make their grand entrance, but it hadn't been this. In fact, he'd been entirely off kilter since Brienne had stepped out of the car, wearing a gown that...well, it didn't make her pretty, but the fabric was the exact same shade as her eyes, making them stand out even more than usual. Jaime considered telling her to wear that color every day, but she'd have probably taken it the wrong way and he'd lose whatever bit of tolerance she was giving him tonight.</p>
<p>She was still delightfully skittish around him, tentatively taking his arm when offered and he hadn't missed the slow breath she'd drawn in preparation for their entry. He knew she hated having people watch her and wished he could do something to stop it. The wedding would be even worse and he'd made a note to come up with ideas to make it...maybe not easier, but less painful.</p>
<p>He cursed himself for his role in her discomfort, especially the introduction. He hadn't actually meant anything by it, and at the time, it seemed like a funny thing to say. Of course, at that time, he hadn't uncomfortable she found her own skin. No. That was a lie. He just hadn't cared. He hadn't actually planned to marry her, so there was no reason to. Since then, the reality had set in and he was stuck on a runaway train he could do nothing to stop. He was glad she'd given him a second chance. And a third. He really did like her. They really had come a long way.</p>
<p>“I want you to show me around the city,” she repeated. “The real city.” He must have taken too long to respond because red splotches bloomed across her cheeks and nose. One hundred and sixteen. Making her blush had quickly become one of Jaime's favorite forms of amusement and, yes, he was keeping count. “I mean,” she quickly rerouted herself, “I've never really seen it and I had a nice time with you and the museum and think it would be a good idea for us to spend more time together outside of...” Words tumbled, too fast from her mouth, like she was trying to clean up a spill by dumping more water on it. “Forget it, this was a bad idea...” She stared at the table, her face so red that Jaime had an inexplicable urge to touch it, just to see if it was as warm as it looked.</p>
<p>“Harpy!”<br/><br/>She looked up at that. Her reaction to the nickname would never get old. “My name is Brienne.”<br/><br/>He waved her away. “I know that.” He thought of her face when he teased her with the cake, wanted to see if he could break his record, not just in count, but in color. “Are you asking me on a date?” Oh, there it was! The splotches on her cheeks darkened, creeping to the roots of her hair.<br/><br/>“I— That's not! It wouldn't be... No!” The blush had spread all the way down her neck and across her shoulders. Jaime found himself unable to look away. <br/><br/>“No, Harpy, you're—”<br/><br/>“Brienne...”<br/><br/>“Brienne, you're right!” Confusing her was another thing he'd found he enjoyed. “We should get to know one another,” then, because he could, he turned his gaze seductive. “We should,” he trailed his eyes over ever inch of flaming skin, “get to know one another,” he licked his lips, “very well.” He paused, certain that now she most definitely would be hot to the touch. Her eyes were round and blue and he saw a myriad of emotions flit through them, changing too fast for him to decipher a single one. “But not in the city.”<br/><br/>Brienne glared, furiously red, and Jaime delighted in the response. “Okay, never mind.” She looked away and Jaime wondered if perhaps he'd gone too far. Being with her was, surprisingly, the most fun he'd had in a long time and he didn't want to lose the tenuous steps they'd taken. And if she hadn't been to that part of the city, she couldn't really know why he was refusing her.</p>
<p>He should tell her. All of it. The truth. But what could he tell her? Rumors? Gossip? Scare her for no reason when they'd probably be halfway across the continent a month from now? Still, Tywin had grown increasingly paranoid about the rumors of a Targaryen coup if the girl didn't get her way. He'd called Jaime in on a private conference between him and Robert. Half the council sided with her and Robert all but admitted the North was leaving by the first of the year.</p>
<p>“It's not you,” he said, swishing his hand through the air to wave away the negativity. “Do you know how dangerous the city is? I mean, I know you're not looking forward to being my wife, but I can assure you it'll be preferable to being dead.” He tried to make light of it, but the reality was that the rumors were reaching the people. Riots were starting. Small, controlled, but still, it was no place for a Lannister, even by marriage. He shook those thoughts away, smiling back at Brienne. Let his father deal with the rebels.</p>
<p>She studied him for further mockery and when she apparently found none, she laughed, shaking over his residual nerves. That was another thing Jaime had learned about her. She had a fantastic laugh. He tried to draw it out of her as often as he could, which, sadly, wasn't nearly as frequent as the blushes.</p>
<p>“Do I look like I can't handle myself?” she quipped back, gesturing to her large frame.<br/><br/>“I'm sure you can handle yourself just fine,” he agreed, hoping she'd take it as a compliment, “But half the city wants me dead and that might be a little much for both of us.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a good way out of the marriage, then<span>,” she replied with the faintest smirk.</span></p>
<p>“Harpy! Did you just make a joke?” A hint of a nod. “I knew you had it in you! What else is in there, just waiting to break free?” She blushed again, laughed again, and Jaime felt curiously hopeful. Perhaps marriage had never been part of his plan, but it got his father off his ass and having someone to wander museums with, not complaining when he lingered too long or got too excited didn't sound all bad. He was sick of being captive to his sister's whims too, as he thought bitterly of the vial he'd flushed down the toilet the moment he'd gotten back to his room. Maybe the harpy swooping into his life wasn't the prison he thought it was—maybe it was escape. She didn't want to be married to him any more than he did her, and oddly, that made them a perfect fit. They could start over, live whatever lives they wanted. They would support, rather than impede each other, and at the absolute worst, maybe, possibly, if he watched his mouth, become friends. He realized he was already starting to see her as one.<br/><br/>Impulsively, he grabbed her hand. <br/><br/>She bristled but didn't cringe. “What are you doing?”<br/><br/>“Let's dance.”</p>
<p>She pulled back. “I...I'm afraid I'm not very good.”<br/><br/>“Neither am I,” he lied. “Besides, Harpy, it's our party. No one would dare to comment on your lack of skills. I mean, except me, and I swear to you I won't.”<br/><br/>Brienne smiled, but remained reluctant. Jaime was vaguely aware he'd been holding her hand for longer than should have been comfortable, but he wasn't ready to back down. “I'll tell you what: You dance with me and I will call you by your name for the rest of the party. This will be the last time the word harpy leaves these lips for the whole night.”<br/><br/>That got a laugh. “No it won't,” she called him out.<br/><br/>“Fine. Har—” he joked, then took on a serious tone. “Brienne, I promise to try.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, but they twinkled all the same and she smiled as he led her out to the dance floor. It was well over an hour before they returned to their seats, and while Brienne had been right about her inability to dance, Jaime was truly having a good time. At one point he'd looked up to see his father wearing smug like it was created for him and the whole time he'd been out there, his sister's leaden glare hadn't diminished an ounce, but Jaime couldn't find it in himself to care. Brienne was a blast. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized how long it had been since he'd just had fun.</p>
<p>He liked that he didn't have to second guess the smile on her flushed, glistening face as he pulled her chair out for her. “I'll go get us some drinks,” he said, continuing to surprise himself. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>“Just water,” she said, still panting from the activity.</p>
<p>“Water?” Jaime's face scrunched. “At least get a fizzy water! Live a little!”</p>
<p>Brienne looked at him like he was broken. “No! Fizzy water is disgusting!”<br/><br/>“Fine,” he said ambling backward toward the bar, still looking at her and pointing, “But I'm getting you lemon. And lime. I might even go balls out and get you a slice of cucumber!” Brienne delighted Jaime with a rich laugh, his smile huge as he turned around. The evening continued to shake his expectations.</p>
<p>It was no surprise to find Tyrion at the bar, but Jaime hadn't expected the smug grin and raised eyebrows. <br/><br/>“Someone's having a good time.” Jaime shot him a warning glare, but his brother just laughed. “It's okay to have fun with her! You should like your wife.”<br/><br/>“She's not my wife yet.”<br/><br/>“No, but you do like her.”<br/><br/>Jaime considered arguing, telling him he was crazy, he was merely trying to make the most of things. For both of them. Except he knew his brother was too smart to believe that, especially after his panicked midnight phone call. Hells, even in his own mind, the lies fell flat. He wasn't used to people who were kind, and he liked how she was funny in a subtle way not everyone got. Even her nervousness was charming, but in the rare instances like tonight or at the museum, when he could get her to shake it away...that was when she really shined. “Yeah, I guess I do.”<br/><br/>Tyrion clapped his hands together beaming. “Brother! This is fantastic! Imagine how tall your children are going to be!” Leave it to Tyrion to dial it too far, too fast.<br/><br/>“Not like that, you drunk asshole,” Jaime shook his head. Still, he was really glad his brother had gotten her to stay. “She's just...nice. I think she's an honest to gods good person.” <br/><br/>“It's worse than I though!” Tyrion howled. “You really like her!” He shook with laughter despite Jaime's best efforts to look properly affronted, then wiped at his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. “Seriously though, a good person? What's that even like?”<br/><br/>Jaime shrugged. “It's like...it's like Brienne. You talked to her.”</p>
<p>“Not like you are though.”</p>
<p>The bartender appeared, deeply apologetic, but Jaime was just grateful for the interruption. He didn't know how Tyrion had talked Brienne out of leaving, but he was content to bury that night under a pile of better memories. At least everything after dessert. “I'm so sorry for the delay, Mr. Lannister.”<br/><br/>That brought Tyrion back to thunderous laughter and Jaime bit back an encouraging grin. “Mr. Lannister is turning over a new leaf as a good person. That one is, anyway,” He winked at her. “I'm still a cretin.” <br/><br/>She smiled, leaning across the bar. “I bet you are.”<br/><br/>“He's married,” Jaime interjected, watching Tyrion's look turn horrified.<br/><br/>“I'm not—why would you?”<br/><br/>Jaime ignored him, ordering the drinks and adding, “The water...put a piece of every kind of fruit you have in it.”<br/><br/>Tyrion looked at him strangely for a moment, then remembered he was mad. “What is wrong with you?”<br/><br/>Jaime smirked. “Me? Nothing. I'm just here, at my engagement party, having a good time.”<br/><br/>Tyrion glared, gave up on being mad, and said, “I'm glad. If you think this is a good time, wait'll you see what Bronn and I have planned for your bachelor party.” Nothing good came of plans with Tyrion's friend Bronn, but before Jaime could argue, he turned serious. “Someone is most decidedly not having a good time,” he nodded toward their sister, watching with a cold stare. “If she's worried, I know everything I need to about your new giantess.”<br/><br/>Jaime tried to protest, but any defense of his sister died in his mouth. He hadn't spoken to her since he'd shut his door in her face, and it was surprising how little he cared. It stung, but it wasn't the part that they weren't speaking. It was the part where she really thought he was just a murdered. Even that sting continued to dull with every passing day. “It's not about Brienne,” he settled on. He hadn't told Tyrion about her request and was enjoying himself too much for that downer of a conversation.<br/><br/>“Wow, you really are growing up!” Tyrion patted his back, smiling proudly. “Good for you!”<br/><br/>The drinks couldn't come fast enough. Jaime looked down the bar at the pretty girl stuffing fruit slices into a fishbowl sized goblet, wondering if the joke was worth it—it was—as he grappled with a change of subject. <br/><br/>Before he could say anything, screams pierced the hall.</p>
<p>The music stuttered and died, while bodies turned toward the sound. Even Cersei pulled her daggers from him to see what the commotion was.<br/><br/>Pia stood in the hallway that led to the bathrooms, stunned and shaking. “He—I just... Someone—And...” Even from the bar, Jaime could see her gulping down air, trying to inhale enough to say whatever she needed to say. Some guest, Jaime couldn't say who, jumped and ran in the direction she'd come from, followed by his uncle. Pia swallowed hard and tried again. “I—I was restocking the restrooms and... Mr. Lannister—Tywin—he's dead!”<br/><br/>Everything chugged to slow motion, as Jaime tried to make sense of what Pia had just said. Tywin. That was his father. And he was dead. But he couldn't be dead because less than a half hour ago he was mocking Jaime with his eyes and also he was Tywin Lannister which pretty much meant he was invincible and— <br/><br/>His uncle Kevan, emerged from the bathroom. “Call 911. Tywin has been shot.”</p>
<p>Shot? Like, with a gun? He was at his engagement party, actually enjoying himself with the person his father had assigned to him, not even caring that his sister was mad, and that didn't make sense, except now apparently his father was dead and that made so little sense that everything before seemed perfectly rational. This was a strange dream.</p>
<p>Tyrion was saying something. Tyrion was jerking his arm and saying something that sounded like, “Get out of here.” Jaime blinked, bringing everything back into focus. “If father has been shot...you know what he's been saying. We might be in danger. Especially you. Go, go...go to Tysha's. I'll find you later.”<br/><br/>Now Tyrion wasn't making sense. Jaime didn't even know where Tysha lived. He opened his mouth to say as much but when he looked at his brother, he was busy, hastily scrawling an address on a napkin.<br/><br/>“Go! Now! Through the kitchens.” He shoved Jaime toward the back of the room.</p>
<p>All at once, the situation plowed into him. He dashed for the door.<br/><br/>“Take your bride!” Tyrion called, exasperated.<br/><br/>Oh! Shit! Brienne! Jaime swam through Jello, taking eternity to reach her. The hall had erupted into chaos and he didn't stop to apologize to all the people he stepped on and kicked along the way. He didn't stop to explain things to Brienne either, as he reached out and yanked her from her seat, dragging her toward the exit.<br/><br/>“What's happen—where are we going?” She couldn't seem to form coherent sentences either, which was fine with him, but they had to leave. <br/><br/>“Have to leave,” he panted, “Now!”<br/><br/>“But my father...” She protested, uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Will be fine.” Brienne remained unconvinced. Jaime liked her, he did, but he did not have time to work through this with her and he felt his patience threaten to snap. “Look, your father will be okay. I'm not so sure about us. We need to go now. Tyrion will meet us and we'll get your father out of here.”</p>
<p>Making no motion to follow him, Brienne continued to push. “But we're here now and if we can just find him—”</p>
<p>“I will pick you up and carry you.” She looked at him doubtful, almost a challenge. “I'm strong enough,” he assured her. He was two seconds from proving it, when she gave in and complied, following him through the kitchens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh no!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>New friends and a change of scenery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Godsdammit!” Jaime punched the steering wheel of his car. Brienne silently plastered herself harder against the passenger seat, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He'd always seemed so relaxed, like he could take on anything and not break a sweat, but in that moment, he looked lost. She wanted to say something but what escaped her entirely. His father had just been murdered at his engagement party for a wedding he hadn't wanted in the first place and now they were on the lam. Westerosi Greetings didn't exactly make a card for that.<br/><br/>Tentatively, she reached out, brushing her fingertips light against his arm. He jumped, staring owlishly at her, as if he'd forgotten she was there. “Jaime...” He blinked at her. “Is there...Can I do anything?”<br/><br/>He kept staring like she was speaking in Old Valyrian or something. She hated feeling so helpless. Her offer finally registered and he shook his head and swallowed. “No. I think we just...we need to get to Tysha's.”<br/><br/>Brienne nodded, like she had half a clue what Tysha's was. By that point she was willing to go along with whatever he said if it would just bring back an ounce of his biting wit. She'd even take mean Jaime over this. This Jaime, disheveled and wild eyed, looking like he was going to break at any moment, terrified her.<br/><br/>“The immediate problem,” he continued, “Is that it's in the slums. I can't take this car to the slums, they'll—whoever did this...If someone's really after us, this is a dead giveaway.” He closed his eyes and blew out a breath and Brienne could see him clawing to hold on to any composure he had left. “We'll need to ditch it. We can... We can take the underground. Yeah, okay... Fuck!” Solving that problem only unlocked a new one. “We're not exactly dressed for that. Even if no one recognizes us, we're definitely getting mugged. Godsdammit!” he cursed again.</p><p>He studied her a moment, and to Brienne's surprise, it didn't make her uncomfortable. It wasn't mocking like in the first days or even his more recent dissection. It was more like...like he thought she might actually be on his side and was afraid to find out he was wrong. She needed to reassure him that he wasn't. Even if her reservations about him hadn't dwindled even further that evening, he didn't deserve this. No one did.</p><p>“Okay,” she said, trying for anything that would help. “Is there somewhere between here and the train station where we can get clothes?”</p><p>“Yes!” He seemed to have snapped out of his daze, now radiating frenetic energy. “Yes, food, clothes... Give me your phone.” She plucked it from the handbag she carried and watched in horror as he threw it hard out the car window.”<br/><br/>“Hey!”</p><p>“I'll buy you a new one,” he promised, doing the same with his. “We can't take any chances.” She wondered how much danger he thought they were in.</p><p>Throwing the car in reverse, he tore out of the parking lot. He drove fast, like a man with nothing to lose and she suspected at least some part of that was true. Each passing streetlight glittered in his eyes, while he gripped the wheel with white knuckled hands. Brienne gripped the handle on her door. Driving gave him something to focus on and that was probably good but she needed him to know he wasn't on his own.<br/><br/>“Jaime?” Her idea was stupid but she had to do something. Anything.<br/><br/>“Yeah?”<br/><br/>“You can...I mean if it would help... It's nothing but...” Why did she always sound like she didn't know how words worked? “You can forget the harpy thing. If you need to call me that. If it'll make you feel better.” There.</p><p>He stared, dazed, as though he'd never seen anything like her before, for a shade too long to be comfortable and she started to think maybe she'd crossed some line, but then he shook the stars away with an awkward pat to her knee. “Thanks, Brienne.”</p><p>They must have looked absurd shambling into FreyMart to replace their clearly designer formal wear with casuals made in the worst of Essos' slave labor conditions. The store was near empty at that hour and Jaime wandered the aisles, haphazardly throwing random items into the basket. He grabbed a couple burner phones, swearing again that he would replace hers—with the latest model, he insisted—once they knew being tracked was no longer a concern.</p><p>“Do you really think we're in danger?” She asked, knowing it was a dumb question. Tywin hadn't been well liked by any stretch, but the kind of person who could slip into his son's engagement party and murder him in the restroom was certainly a threat. Her opinion on Jaime may have improved, but now she wondered how ordinary an occurrence this kind of thing was in these circles? Was she committing to a life of watching over her shoulder and jumping at shadows in bathrooms?</p><p>As if sensing her fears, Jaime gave a reassuring attempt at a smile. “Who knows? Tyrion seems to think it's a big enough threat for us to run and he's pretty smart about politics, so we should probably listen to him.” He tossed a box of animal crackers into the cart. “But right now, it's just a precaution.”<br/><br/>“Okay,” she agreed. The fell into a silence that nagged at her. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable or awkward, but even in the admittedly short time she'd known Jaime, he had never been this quiet. He always had something to say. Aside from his lack of words, he seemed fine, although that probably alarmed her most. He couldn't be fine and she wondered what would happen when the reached their destination and he had time to sit and process things. He was distracted right now but eventually the dam would break and what then? She didn't know how to prepare for that. She still barely knew him.</p><p>After they paid, they parted ways to change in the bathrooms. Jaime stopped outside to stuff his three piece suit into a large trash bin, stopping Brienne when she went to do the same with her gown. “Don't,” he insisted. “I like that dress. Matches your eyes.” She had no idea what to make of that comment and she was sure she'd dissect it fully at a more appropriate time, but right then, she just smiled, stuffing into one of the gray, plastic bags she'd pulled her new hoodie out of.</p><p>Jaime almost seemed normal after leaving the store, reclaiming the road while stuffing marshmallows into his mouth. Any onlooker would miss it. They'd see him as just an ordinary guy, out with a girl too ugly to be his girlfriend, having a snack, nothing unusual at all. Brienne could see the lie in his normalcy though. The little things that betrayed him and told her he was doing anything he could to compartmentalize what had happened, rather than processing it.</p><p>“Want some?” he asked with his mouth full, holding the bag out to her. She waved it away.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Brienne asked, watching his erratic turns draw them into increasingly dingier parts of the city.<br/><br/>“Train station. Then Tysha's,” he repeated, not realizing that held absolutely no meaning for her.</p><p>“Okay, yes, but what is Tysha's?” She tried again. It sounded like a bar. She hoped it wasn't a bar. It couldn't possibly be a bar. That would be the worst place for them to try to hide.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, sorry,” he said, glancing her way, sheepish at his oversight. It looked strange on him. “Tysha is Tyrion's girlfriend. Wife. Whatever.”<br/><br/>“Oh. Was she at the party? Will she be home yet?” They could have probably gotten a ride with her. That made way more sense than abandoning his car for the train or their bizarre little side quest for new clothes. Plus Brienne still wasn't convinced Jaime should be driving.</p><p>“She wasn't at the party,” Jaime eyed her cautiously. “She's a secret.” He paused, looking like he understood exactly how weird she thought his family was and wanted to laugh at her for it. “Father,” his stumble over the word was minute, but enough for Brienne to catch it, “Would never have approved. She a wi—practitioner of old medicine,” he added seemingly to direct any discussion away from Tywin.</p><p>“Hmm.” Brienne didn't think many people still worked with—</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck!” She clapped her hand over her mouth hard enough to sting. Her concern about Jaime's well being took a back seat to her own rising panic. Of all the mistakes she could have made...<br/><br/>Jaime startled. “What? What's wrong?”<br/><br/>“I have to go back!” Brienne demanded, growing frantic. “You don't have to go back, but I have to go back.”<br/><br/>“What? Why? Harpy, we can't go back!” He insisted. “If it's about your dad, I promise—”</p><p>“No, not my dad,” she ran her hand over her forehead in soothing circles, like the right motion held the answer of how to explain this. “I forgot my medication. I need that medication.” Jaime glanced at her and she tried desperately to hide the fact that she was on the brink of hysteria.</p><p>“Well, what's it for?” He arched an eyebrow, smirking at her like had no business doing in his condition. “If it's birth control pills, we can re—”</p><p>“It's not birth control pills!” she snapped. Ten minutes earlier, she'd have been thrilled to hear him teasing her again, but this wasn't funny. Without her pills...<br/><br/>“This is serious?” He asked.</p><p>Brienne nodded.<br/><br/>“Are you sick?”<br/><br/>She shook her head. “No. Not really.” Telling him more about the pills would mean telling him about the curse and she wasn't ready for that. <em>He </em>wasn't ready for that. “It's not...I just really need them.”<br/><br/>“Are they brain pills or something? To keep you...you know?”<br/><br/>She glowered at him.<br/><br/>“Fine, fine. Okay. You don't have to tell me. But we can't go back.” He chewed his lower lip a minute and she watched him think. “Okay, where are your pills? At the house?” A nod. “Great! We'll get to Tysha's. When I talk to Tyrion, I'll make sure to have him get your pills.” He smiled like he'd answered the greatest mystery of the universe. “I'm sure one missed dose won't hurt you.”<br/><br/>Brienne's stomach rolled over, swimming with acid. She had no idea what one missed dose would do.</p><p>---</p><p>Jaime was good. Jaime was doing okay. His father was dead and whoever was responsible was probably after him too and when she wasn't freaking out about her medication, like that was their worst problem right now, the harpy kept looking at him like he was going to break. But he wasn't. He was good.</p><p>The train ride had set him on edge, and it had definitely seemed like the other passengers (all four of them) were staring, but it was probably had nothing to do with his dad's murder and was more about how bizarre he and the harpy looked together with their pile of FreyMart bags. It was stupid of him to buy so much unnecessary shit and he had no idea why he did it. All they'd really needed were clothes and phones, but maybe they needed food too and other supplies because what if Tysha wasn't home or sent them away or—</p><p>Jaime was fine. Good. He just needed to get a grip.</p><p>He was grateful when they stepped off the train to walk the last few blocks to the address on the napkin he'd thoughtlessly almost thrown away twice, not just because the other passengers didn't even notice them, much less follow, but also because it meant they weren't sitting. Moving made it a lot harder for Brienne to stare and Brienne gawking with those wide doe eyes, bluer than they had any business being made him feel like crawling out of his skin. He set the pace for the walk, keeping it quick, giving the harpy little time to examine him.</p><p>Tysha's house was a hole in the wall, small and dingy, with nothing that would be of any notice to anyone. The perfect spot for hiding while they dug down to the root of this. The second they stopped, Brienne's gaze weighed heavy again, somehow stronger than ever. She was trying to be kind, but she was treating him like he was fragile and restraining the urge to snap at her physically hurt.<br/><br/>His hand shook, just the faintest tremor, but he knew Brienne would catch it and willed it still. He wanted to tell her that if he was going to break, it would be her stupid eyes that did it.</p><p>Instead he steadied his hand, counted to three, and rang the bell.</p><p>The door cracked open the few inches the chain latch would allow, Tysha's pretty face peering through the crack.</p><p>“Tysha, hi,” he stammered, suddenly aware that it had been over a year, at least, since he'd last seen her. “I'm Jaime, Tyrion's brother. Tyrion said—”<br/><br/>“I'm glad you made it.” The chain unlatched and she practically yanked him in, motioning for Brienne to follow.</p><p>---</p><p>Brienne marveled at Tysha's house. It was much bigger inside than the stoop out front admitted. Charming too, the walls lined with shelves, covered in a directionless array of knickknacks and worn paperback books. The coffee table didn't match the end tables and the three battered couches filling the area looked every bit as comfortable as the furniture in her room at the Lannister estate, and twice as welcoming. It was the kind of place Brienne could have pictured for herself. Before. She breathed it in like fresh air.<br/><br/>Tysha, too, was wonderful, the kind of person Brienne felt drawn to immediately as she spilled out everything she'd learned from Tyrion, after pouring the tea she'd started in preparation for their arrival. Unfortunately, it wasn't much more than they'd already known.<br/><br/>“He suspects the Targaryens,” she finished, taking a sip from her cup. Jaime nodded and Brienne studied him again. He looked like he was gasping for breath but hadn't even realized he was drowning. It surprised her, that her desire to be there for him had grown rather than shrunk and how disappointed she was that still hadn't figured out how to do it. Under the most average circumstances she wasn't good at consolation and these were not average circumstances.<br/><br/>That was without factoring her own predicament.</p><p>“So we're safe?” Brienne glanced around again drawing the warmth from the room.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Tysha agreed. “No one knows about me and Tyrion. Well, he did,” she corrected, tipping her head toward Jaime, “And now you. But that's it. You're safe here.” She smiled, a real smile, not the polite smile of someone trying to sell her something, be it cake or music, or a lifestyle she wasn't ready for, that Brienne had become accustomed to over the last few weeks.</p><p>She tried to feel relieved. “What about outside?”</p><p>Tysha sipped her tea again. “I don't know,” she admitted. “Tyrion is handling some things but he promised to update us as soon as possible.” She looked at Brienne in reassurance, her eyes warm and comforting. “You really are safe here.”<br/><br/>“I believe you, it's just—ugh.” Running her hands over her face, Brienne took stock of her situation. Maybe it would be fine. She'd taken a pill at the party, just after dinner. Selwyn had contracted this medication, had it personally made for her, shortly after the curse, and that was... She quickly counted in her head... Thirteen years ago. She'd never missed a dose. Maybe the curse had worn off. Maybe the medication's effects were cumulative. Brienne wondered if she could be that lucky. “I forgot my medication,” she mumbled.<br/><br/>Jaime's head shot up. “We're back to this?” he groaned. “I told you—”</p><p>“Medication?” Tysha's eyes lit. “I dabble in medications.” That was right. Brienne did remember Jaime mentioning that, but in the midst of her panic, it hadn't meant anything. It still didn't mean anything except the other woman grew increasingly excited as she continued, “I'm not licensed or anything and mostly I deal in old alternatives, you know, the stuff no one believes in anymore, but I might have something to help you out. In a pinch, you know?”<br/><br/>Brienne bit her lip, trying to tamp down the embers of hope growing in her chest. If Tysha could help her, she could stop worrying that she might transform into a literal monster some time tomorrow afternoon and could focus on their other problems. But what were the chances? “It's, uh...more of an herbal supplement...”<br/><br/>“An herbal supplement?” Jaime deadpanned and Tysha shot him a hard glare before clapping her hands together enthusiastically.</p><p>“Perfect!” Brienne smiled, allowing for the possibility that at least this would be okay. Clearly, Tysha was thrilled to use her skills and even if it wasn't exactly right, she was desperate enough to try anything. “Which one is it?”<br/><br/>Oh. The momentary hope eroded. There was no way Tysha would have what Brienne needed and she felt stupid for letting herself believe she would. “It's a custom blend,” she started, trying to rattle off ingredients. Tysha procured a small pad of paper and pencil, sliding it over to her. When Brienne had finished writing, she handed the pad over nervously.</p><p>Tysha lifted her eyes without moving her face, examining Brienne curiously. She knew. Brienne's skin prickled to life, waiting for Tysha to expose her. Fiddling with a strand of sweaty, disheveled hair, she berated herself internally for not saying something sooner. Now she'd be outed against her will. Instead, Tysha surprised her, inhaling deeply then, returning to the animated young woman she'd been moments before. “I don't have that,” she stated carefully. Brienne's face fell. “But I can make it for you!” she quickly rectified. “Come with me.”<br/><br/>Tysha led Brienne, commanding Jaime to stay when he moved to stand. “Do you need more tea?” It was more order than offer and Brienne was grateful for Tysha's easy authority over the situation. Jaime shook his head, sinking back into the sofa, looking exhausted and perplexed like this was a dream he wished he'd wake up from. Brienne wished she'd wake up too.<br/><br/>If Tysha's living room impressed Brienne, the kitchen was a wonder entirely. Again, she got the sense of a room that was perfectly ordinary and anything but all at once. Mismatched pots with whimsical prints hung from a grate on the ceiling and dotted the seashell colored tile of the counter top. There was a toaster shaped like a rooster and a cookie jar shaped like a frog. A second one shaped like a hippo. Three sinks lined one wall and a large stove sat in the center. The room looked like something from a children's book. Brienne loved it. In the back corner, a brightly printed curtain blocked a doorway. She longed to push through it and explore more of Tysha's house.<br/><br/>“Don't mind the mess,” Tysha said as though she knew Brienne didn't. “I hadn't much time to prepare for company.” She smiled as she pushed away a wall, revealing a deep pantry with a squat table in the middle. Dried foods lined one side of shelves, but the other... The other housed hundreds of vials and jars, each meticulously labeled and lined up alphabetically. Tysha really did know her stuff.<br/><br/>Brienne ducked her head to follow Tysha through the doorway, the top of her scalp brushing the ceiling inside. She stood awkwardly, watching Tysha pluck jars from the shelves, tucking them into her arms.</p><p>“So what are you?” Tysha asked, not even looking up from her work.<br/><br/>“I—what?” Brienne balked.</p><p>Tysha turned. Her eyes held no horror or shock, just casual curiosity. “I know this compound. It's for shape shifters who...don't want to shift,” she shrugged as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence. “Never thought I'd get to make it though.” Okay, definitely not an everyday occurrence.</p><p>Brienne chewed her lower lip, wrapping her long arms around herself protectively. She felt like she could trust Tysha, but this... No one knew about this. Only her, her father, and her private doctor back on Tarth. Oh, and the witch, of course. Tysha watched her, patient, but expecting. “A harpy,” Brienne whispered. Immediately, she wanted to claw the words back, deny anything. Stumble through some other awkward explanation of why she needed that particular compound. “It's not—” she stammered, compelled with a sudden urge to explain. “I'm not <em> really </em> a harpy. It's...I was cursed.”<br/><br/>But Tysha wasn't judging her. She didn't even look surprised. If anything, she seemed sympathetic. “Ooh. That's tough. And these pills keep you...you?”<br/><br/>Brienne nodded. “Wish they'd turn me into someone else,” she joked. Nerves always made her extra self-deprecating.</p><p>Tysha cocked her head, looking like she wanted to scold her. Instead, she gave it a faint shake. “Does Jaime know?”<br/><br/>Brienne shook her head.</p><p>“Are you going to tell him?”</p><p>Brienne shook her head again and pressed her hand to the table for leverage, preparing answers for the list of reasons Tysha would give her about why that was wrong, but Tysha only shrugged.<br/><br/>“Okay.” She returned to her vials.<br/><br/>“You're not going to tell me to tell him?” Brienne asked, confused by the complete lack of reaction.</p><p>“I've only met Jaime a couple times and you once. You know what's right more than I do,” she began stacking the jars on the table, inches from Brienne's hand. “They're a strange family,” she looked up this time with a friendly smile. “I get it.”<br/><br/>Brienne opened her mouth, completely unable to comprehend Tysha's lack of reaction to all of this. “They're strange?” she questioned. “I mean, yeah, they are strange, but...” She trailed off, trying to find her words, convinced there was some part of the conversation Tysha had missed and wanting her to see it. “I'm a harpy!” she blurted.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tysha said, unaffected, like she met harpies every day. The lack of reaction was more unsettling than the screams of horror Brienne had expected. At most, Tysha was curious. “Was it a witch? That cursed you?”<br/><br/>Brienne pinched herself and when she didn't wake, she nodded. “How did you guess that?”<br/><br/>Tysha ignored her question, still smiling. “You must hate witches!”<br/><br/>Brienne's pulse picked up a bit. If she hated anything, it was the ease in which she found herself telling this woman, this complete stranger, her deepest secrets. Not knowing what else to say, she admitted, “I've only ever met the one.”<br/><br/>“Two,” Tysha asserted. “You've met two. At least”<br/><br/>It took Brienne a moment to decipher what she was saying, but her eyes widened as the meaning sunk in. “You're a witch!”<br/><br/>Tysha cocked her head, smile turning sympathetic. “And you're a harpy. And the humans we love are still stranger than we are.”<br/><br/>Brienne was still untangling Tysha's confession of being a witch when the wonan's other words blasted her. “We...oh! I don't love Jaime,” she stammered. “This was our fathers'... I barely know him!”</p><p>Tysha raised an eyebrow, then dismissed that thread. Brienne was grateful. While she'd wanted a distraction from the crushing weight of the wedding plans, this hadn't at all been what she had in mind. She again thought of Jaime in the other room. Wondered if he was okay, now that he had nothing to keep him occupied.</p><p>Then another idea occurred to her. One that set her mind racing, making her feel for the first time in a decade like maybe she was going to be okay. “If you're a witch,” she started slowly, “Can you lift the curse?”<br/><br/>Tysha smiled sympathetically. “Maybe? I don't know. If I had more information... It's not impossible in general, but from where we're at right now, no.” The thought had been flimsy at best, but Brienne wasn't prepared for the wave of disappointment that crashed into her. “I'm sorry,” Tysha added, looking like she wanted to give her a hug.</p><p>“I can make you what you need,” she said, some of the relief flooding back to Brienne's veins. “But,” <em>Oh no!</em> “I don't have all the ingredients.” <em>Godsdammit! </em>Brienne's face fell. She'd been so close to solving one problem. Tysha noted her disappointment and quickly reassured, “They're easy to get though. Any drugstore should have them.”<br/><br/>“Okay!” Brienne brightened. “Where's the closest one?”<br/><br/>Tysha scrutinized her, concerned. Slowly, she said, “There's an all night place...” She looked at Brienne, apologetic. “I don't have a car, but I do know a shortcut. If I'm quick, it shouldn't take much more than an hour.”<br/><br/>Brienne glanced around for a clock, realizing there wasn't one, but she knew it was late. It had been almost eleven when Jaime had crushed her phone, and she estimated they'd spent at least an hour at FreyMart, then the train... Tysha had already been such a welcoming host and having her run midnight errands for Brienne was a step too far. “Just give me the directions. I'll find it.”<br/><br/>Tysha eyed her, hesitant. “It's not a big deal. I'm usually up late.”<br/><br/>“Really, Tysha,” Brienne insisted. “That's too much. I'll go.” Tysha looked at her like she was about to protest, so Brienne added, “This is the most control I've had over my own life in almost a month. Please.”<br/><br/>Tysha nodded reluctant agreement. “Alright. Place is called Qyburn's,” she gave in, scribbling down the address, and directions, along with the two ingredients she needed, and grabbed a wad of crumpled bills from a stray cookie jar—that one a pig on top of the fridge—when Brienne realized her wallet was back on the other end of town. “Don't even worry about it,” Tysha assured, though Brienne swore a mental oath to pay her back, quickly as possible. Again, she was struck with gratitude for the comfortable control Tysha had taken.</p><p>Brienne slipped from the kitchen paper in hand. Jaime was sitting on the sofa, blankly leafing through a paperback but not really reading it. He looked up at her and she wished again that she knew what to say to him. “How are you doing?”<br/><br/>He shrugged. “Wish you wouldn't ask me that,” his attempted smile fell flat. “Makes it harder to pretend none of this happened.”<br/><br/>She bit back her knee-jerk irritation, reminding herself that whatever she was going through, he was the one with the dead father. “Okay. I'll stop asking,” she said simply.<br/><br/>“I didn't mean—”</p><p>“I know,” she smiled. “I'll back off though.” She pulled her hoodie over her head.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jaime demanded.</p><p>Brienne paused. She hadn't considered the Jaime factor. “So, the good news is Tysha can make my medication.”</p><p>Jaime watched her warily, eyebrows lifting on the words 'good news'. “And the bad?”<br/><br/>Brienne winced. “She's short two ingredients.” His face flattened as he figured out where she was going with this. “But she swears they're easy to find and there's a store less than a mile away that's open all night so I'm just gonna sneak over there real quick and...”<br/><br/>Jaime sighed and it felt like he was counting in his head. He cupped his hands over his face and rubbed slow circles over his eyes. “Stubborn harpy. You're really not going to let this go, are you?”<br/><br/>“I'll be really quick,” she promised.</p><p>He pulled his hands back, revealing an exhausted frown. “It doesn't matter how quick we are.” Brienne wondered when this had become a 'we'. “Everyone knows who I am. Anyone who watched the news last week probably knows who you are too. You don't exactly blend in.” She glared at him. “I don't mean it the way you're taking it,” he tacked on. “You're just really tall.”<br/><br/>He was right. Her face had been splashed across the nightly newscasts over the last week, as the world finally got the answer to the question about Jaime's mystery wife. She didn't even know how much of last night had made it to the media, but she did know how much she stood out and that she was instantly recognizable. Brienne wasn't made for hiding in plain sight.<br/><br/>Even less so if she didn't get her godsdamned medication though.<br/><br/>“Jaime, it'll be fine,” she tried for some of Tysha's matter of fact attitude. “I'll get what I need, you can rest, we'll figure the rest out in the morning.”<br/><br/>Jaime scrutinized her, biting his lip, while his hand raked through his hair. Her hand rested on the door knob and she was about to slip through it when he apparently found the conclusion he was looking for. “Fine,” he said, huffing out one long, last sigh as he stood. “Let's get it over with.”<br/><br/>“What?” Brienne demanded. “No, not—you don't have to go. I can handle myself.” She hadn't taken his previous 'we' seriously, but it appeared he planned to go with her.</p><p>“And like I already told you,” their earlier conversation felt like it happened a year ago, “I'm sure you can.” He was next to her at the door. “But you're not going to.” Brienne blinked. Why did he even want to go with her? If it was as dangerous out there as he seemed to think, wouldn't he just stay here? She opened her mouth to argue, but he raised a defiant finger. “I'm meeting you half way, harpy. If you go, I go. Are we going?<br/><br/>Brienne swung the door open. “Yes.”</p><p>“Where you guys going?” Tysha appeared behind them. Brienne looked confused, while Jaime looked triumphant, like Tysha was about to side with him. Instead, she shook her hand and beckoned them toward her. “I told you, I have a short cut.” She gave a mischievous grin. “That's the wrong door.”<br/><br/>He and Brienne barely had time for a baffled glance at one another before Tysha led them back through the kitchen, to the printed sheet. Pulling it back revealed a long hallway lined with identical doors. Brienne gasped. How big was this place? Surely, that many rooms wouldn't fit into the small place granted by the exterior. Besides, she really needed to go. As much as she wanted a tour of the house, she didn't have time right now.<br/><br/>Tysha stopped in front of the the fourth door on the left. “This one.” She pulled it open.</p><p>Everything felt wrong as Brienne stepped out into the streets of the city.</p><p>---</p><p>What the fuck just happened? Jaime stared at the nondescript, slightly rusted steel door behind them. The door they'd stepped through was wood, the kind one expected in a house. They had been in a house. And now they were standing on the street, in an alley, outside a building that wasn't Tysha's home at all. It hadn't been like walking through a side door or something, hells, there wasn't even room next to Tysha's house for a side door. This should be impossible, but then hadn't the entire night been impossible?</p><p>Brienne wore a matching expression, her mouth hanging open as she grappled for understanding of their most recent turn. “How did that— Did we just?” Jaime nodded, understanding. At least, she was as confused as he was. “Okay then,” she seemed to settle for acceptance. “I guess we should make this quick.”<br/><br/>Another point on which they agreed. Jaime pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, tightening it so he could see without being seen. They stepped off the curb, Brienne examining the directions Tysha had scribbled and leading the way down the alley. Despite already knowing it wouldn't, Brienne seemed genuinely baffled when the building the alley spilled out of was definitely not Tysha's house.</p><p>Jaime was too caught in the scene on the streets. News of his father's assassination had clearly broken, as beginnings of a riot loomed before them. The crowds weren't thick, yet, but he could see people milling about. A block away, a trash can burned, and someone climbed out of a storefront window. Fuck. This wasn't good.</p><p>“This is bad,” he looked at Brienne, eyes begging her to turn back up the alley and retreat... Would the door even work? Did it go both ways? He had to assume it would. “Let's go back. Wait for Tyrion.”<br/><br/>“No,” she insisted, looking more determined than ever. “I mean, you can,” she amended. “But I need to do this.” He made no motion to leave, disgusted by how easily he'd given in. She was going to get them killed. “Just...walk small. You'll get used to it,” she said, without elaborating further. Jaime followed.</p><p>She checked the directions carefully, navigating them past they city's seediest denizens as yellow streetlights flicked above. Jaime looked nervously, jumping at shadows that ordinarily wouldn't have fazed him except this night had already proven rife with the worst possibilities. A siren sounded somewhere in the distance.</p><p>About four blocks in, a bald old man with wild eyes leapt into their path. He carried a baseball bat and Jaime instinctively stepped in front of Brienne, ignoring her when she tried to tug him back. The man's breath reeked of alcohol and gingivitis.</p><p>“Tywin Lannister's dead!” the man proclaimed as if he couldn't wait to tell the world. Sweat oozed from his rough, ruddy pores.<br/><br/>“Mhm,” Jaime agreed, trying to sink deeper into his hoodie, while hoping the harpy wouldn't do anything to give them away.<br/><br/>“Gettin' wild tonight!” The man threw his arms in the air, dashing away.</p><p>Jaime breathed a sigh of relief, barely registering the tinkle of a smashed window a few yards away. Another fire blazed to life in the direction they headed. Brienne gasped and Jaime looked over at her, barely able to make out her face, tucked deep into her own hoodie. “You okay, harpy?”<br/><br/>She nodded. They continued walking.</p><p>The backs of their hands periodically brushed against one another as they made their way through the streets filled with smoke and sounds of unrest. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the pavement in front of him, avoiding the eye of the daring souls that had ventured out to raze the city. Instead, he found them drawn more and more frequently to her, the shallow rise and fall of her breathing against the sweatshirt, the way he could barely make out her gnawing on her bottom lip. The next time their hands touched, he impulsively grabbed hers, wrapping it in his own. She stuttered, almost stopped, but didn't, squeezing his hand instead. He would have given anything to see her eyes.</p><p>They walked hand in hand the rest of the way to the store, stepping over piles of trash and at least one homeless body, before Brienne pulled him to a stop in front of a rundown storefront boasting a neon sign lit with 'Qyburn's ugs'. The burnt out letters in 'drugs' told Jaime everything he needed to know about this place. Ugs, indeed.</p><p>Inside, they were met with harsh fluorescents and a timeworn voice calling from behind a counter, “No hoods in the store!” The voice belonged to a rat-like face, topped in gray hair, watching them through beady eyes. Jaime grimaced, but complied, pulling the covering down. Brienne did the same and he took in her flushed cheeks and haunting eyes, the blonde hair atop her head matted with sweat. “Be with you in a minute,” the voice from the counter called again, interrupting him from his appraisal. Jaime hoped he wouldn't be with them at all, not protesting as Brienne dragged him to an aisle stocked with an array of dusty bottles.</p><p>She dropped his hand to pluck an item from the shelf, turning it to read the back label. He fought an urge to tell her to hurry up, aware that fighting with her now wouldn't help anything. Then she picked up another bottle, comparing the two and the urge turned into something that only an act of one of the gods could have stopped.<br/><br/>“Can I help you find anything,” a voice boomed behind them. Or an act of a creepy old man.<br/><br/>“She'll take this one,” Jaime grabbed the first bottle from Brienne's hand, holding it out to the clerk.<br/><br/>“Hey, I wasn't—” Brienne began to protest.<br/><br/>Jaime shut her down with a pointed look that he hoped she understood. He watched it sink in, adding, “What was the other thing you needed, sweetheart?”<br/><br/>Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, then turned back to the shelves, scanning them. “This!” She grabbed another box, not bothering to examine this one at all. “That should do it.” She handed it to the clerk with a smile that even in the little time he'd known her, Jaime recognized as fake.</p><p>“Will there be anything else?” the man asked, not moving from his place behind them. “A looksee around perhaps? I suspect trouble in the streets soon. Wouldn't wanna forget anything.” The way he watched them made Jaime's skin crawl. He grabbed Brienne's hand again and squeezed. Her grip was tense and he knew she was as unsettled here as he was.</p><p>“No, just those for now,” Jaime said, knowing his smile lacked the confidence he tried to put into it, but hoping it would be enough.<br/><br/>The clerk held his eye, challenging him, before backing down and taking the bottles to the counter. Once he was on his side, the unwanted eye contact was back, ringing up their items without even looking at them. This time, Jaime looked away.<br/><br/>“Must be pretty important to venture out at this time a night,” the man questioned.</p><p>Brienne opened her mouth to answer, but Jaime beat her to it. “Well, you know...wife couldn't sleep without her, uh,” he glanced at one of the bottles. “Abadeine root extract.” Next to him, the harpy glared, turning her grip on his hand crushing. Oh, that was how it was going to be. “I'm always telling her,” Jaime groused, “Stay on top of these things,” he swore he felt something crack, “But does she listen?” That time she stomped down on his foot hard enough for him to grind his . “Wives...”<br/><br/>The man behind the counter nodded sympathetically. “Wives...” He placed the bottles in a brown paper bag and Jaime felt some of the tension float away. They were almost out of there, then they just had to make it back to the alley with Tysha's weird door. “That'll be—m”<br/><br/>Jaime didn't wait for a total, snatching the wad of bills from Brienne's dumbstruck hand and shoving them across the counter. “Keep the change,” he nodded, grabbing the package with his free hand as he dragged Brienne for the door.</p><p>Just as he reached it, it swung open from the other direction, a posse of men on the other side. They cowed Brienne and Jaime back into the store, simultaneously surrounding them and blocking the exit. The apparent leader smiled from under a grimy mustache. “Jaime Lannister,” his grin split, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “Never woulda guessed I'd be meetin' you here.”</p><p>---</p><p>Everything moved at a pace Brienne couldn't keep up with. Despite the uneasy feeling the store keep had given her, the items she needed had been stocked, and for a moment, she'd allowed herself a drop of optimism, to believe they'd gotten what they needed and were heading back to the warm safety of Tysha's.</p><p>Except now they were surrounded by a gang of men that knew who Jaime was, but she got the distinct feeling Jaime didn't know them. The sleazy mob inched closer.<br/><br/>“Likewise,” Jaime replied to the one who had just spoken and Brienne could see him calculating their risk in his green eyes. “But, we've got my wife's medication and it's too late to stay and catch up—”</p><p>The circle around them tightened, one man brushing Brienne's arm. “You're not going anywhere.” The man's grin widened.</p><p>Brienne barely had time to catch Jaime's I-told-you-so glare, when at least two sets of rough hands grabbed her. She yanked her elbow back, driving it hard into the doughy spot behind her, rewarded with a sharp wheeze. “Help!” she yelled to the store clerk, “Call 911,” but she didn't have a chance to look up before more hands were on her dragging her down. She kicked and screamed, fighting them with everything she had. From next to her, she could hear Jaime doing the same. Someone toppled over a shelf and she saw bottles scatter across the floor in front of her.</p><p>“Watch the merchandise!” she heard from the counter.</p><p>She bit down hard on the arm nearest to her face and raked her short nails on anything within reach. Her cheek exploded in pain and her vision swam, blurry around the edges. She tried to spit the taste of blood from her mouth, but it filled back up almost immediately. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jaime's foot kicking out at something, but the fight was leaving him too. There were too many. Too many.</p><p>“Thanks for the tip, Qyburn,” she heard through the sharp pounding of blood against her ears.</p><p>Everything went dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A massive secret takes flight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only thing Jaime knew was that his head was killing him. What happened last night? How much had he drunk? He tried to reach up and see what was going on, finding that his hand wouldn't move. It was stuck to something. His eyes didn't want to open either, like they were glued together with that crusty stuff that comes from sleeping too hard, but more painful. The hard, bumpy surface below him told him he wasn't in his bed, and was that? Laughter? Yes, laughter. Laughter told him he wasn't alone.<br/><br/>“Hey Locke, think killer's wakin' up,” the laughing man called. <br/><br/><em>The store!</em><span> Jaime remembered, trying and failing to sit. His arms were bound with duct tape and he was lying on his side, facing Brienne. And they were moving. Fuck. </span></p>
<p>He squinted, fighting both the darkness and the swelling in his own eyes, trying to see if the harpy fared as badly as he had. From what he could make out, she was either sleeping or unconscious, and the side of her face appeared to be one massive bruise. Blood dripped from her mouth but he was grateful for the soft breaths he could see her taking.</p>
<p>“Brienne,” he whispered. She didn't stir, but the man who'd laughed at him noticed.</p>
<p>“Don't worry, killer,” he guffawed, “Just roughed 'er up a little. She's alive.” He laughed harder than ever, watching Jaime struggle futilely against his bonds. “What were you two doin' in this part a town at this time a night anyway?” Jaime could see the menace glittering in his eyes. “Don'tcha know there's unsavory people out?” The man cackled again and Jaime struggled against an urge to bite back, make some quip to let the man know he hadn't been broken. Bound and aching on the floor though, he knew that would be stupid. Let the man have his fun. He'd get his. Jaime just had to wait. He hoped.<br/><br/>The van—he'd realized it was a van once he realized he'd been kidnapped—rolled along, sending deep thrums of pain through his battered body with every bump it hit. He'd never thought much about the infrastructure in this part of town. Never needed to, but for some dumb reason, his brain chose that moment to bitch at him that shit like this was part of the reason the people hated his family so much. That in some tangential way, it's why he was taped up on the floor of a rusty van now. He remembered caring about the people, once. That was too heavy a thought for amount of misery he was in and he shook it away before it could drag him further. Lightning exploded in his skull when he did.</p>
<p>He squeezed his eyes shut, drifting in and out. The other men spoke periodically, little snippets of conversation Jaime tried to catch when his head didn't hurt him to think about it. He did manage to ascertain these men were vultures, opportunistic bounty hunters who probably really did hate him, but weren't after him for anything more than the money.<br/><br/>He was thirsty and his head throbbed like the worst hangover he'd ever experienced had a hangover of its own. He wanted to sleep, but that was probably just a concussion talking, and besides, he didn't want to miss anything. Instead, he drifted through memories, trying to keep them happy and light, so he wouldn't have to piece together this seemingly endless nightmare. <br/><br/>When he opened his eyes again, Brienne was staring at him, panicked terror swimming across her face. “I'm sorry,” she mouthed silently.<br/><br/>She would come to that conclusion. Jaime didn't blame <em>her</em>. Sure, going to that store had been her ridiculous idea, as had taking so long to compare packaging. But he also knew the guy at the store, Qyburn or whatever, had most likely called these guys the moment he'd lowered his hood. If he wasn't blaming himself, he definitely wasn't blaming Brienne. <br/><br/>He tried to give her a wry smile, but his face hurt too badly and he just ended up wincing. She seemed to get his message.</p>
<p>Half a million excruciating potholes later, the van stopped. Doors opened and closed, opened again, and he was dragged roughly out of the van to his wobbly legs, The sun's first rays touched the spanning parking lot and looming old warehouse in front of them, and he squinted his eyes, trying to block the fresh pain brought by even the faint light. He and the harpy were marched toward the dilapidated building's entrance.</p>
<p>Brienne leaned in close and whispered, “Who are they?”<br/><br/>“Bounty hunters,” Jaime shrugged. He may not have blamed her, but he did wrestle back the urge to add, “I told you so.”</p>
<p>Brienne swallowed and nodded while he watched her calculate their chances of escape.</p>
<p>“They don't really want you,” he explained. “That's just wrong place, wrong time.”</p>
<p>The fact that they didn't want her wasn't a consolation. She was disposable and being disposable meant more, rather than less danger. Jaime watched her walk, posture tall and proud with her head held high, despite the fear and pain underneath. He wondered if she had any idea what was going to happen. “They're going to sell me,” he whispered. “I don't know what they'll do with you. Maybe your father...but,” he swallowed, trying to put off what he had to tell her, “they'll probably...” He raked his eyes down her body. She got his message.</p>
<p>She tried to stand taller, tighten her jaw, but her fear was still plain and her voice trembled when she hissed back, “Not going to happen!”<br/><br/>Jaime sighed. He wanted to think that possible, to reassure her that they were going to get away, that in a couple weeks faded bruises would be the only remnants of their honeymoon in all seven hells. But she was too tall, too proud, too stubborn and he was no good at lying. “Just let them. Black it out. Let them do what they're gonna do and go somewhere else in your mind.” Rage flashed across her face over the mere suggestion. “They'll likely kill you if you don't.”<br/><br/>“What would you do?” She spat, lashing out. He understood. Tugging his wrists against the tape that bound them, he felt a flash of the same fury she did. If he were in her position...</p>
<p>“They'd have to kill me.”<br/><br/>She nodded, resolute. <br/><br/>“I'll—” he started, interrupted by a sharp boot to the small of his back.<br/><br/>“Shuddup and keep moving!”<br/><br/>Jaime's impulse control snapped. Without thinking, he spun, fluidly grabbing the gun from the man's waistband. “I don't think I will.” He fired.</p>
<p>Red bloomed across the man's stomach in slow motion that dissolved into chaos at double speed. Two more armed guards attacked, but behind them he could see the harpy charge to his defense, armed with only her elbows. By the time she was subdued, Jaime managed to incapacitate another guard with a lucky shot to the knee, but then he was face down, gravel biting into his skin as a thousand boots rained on his battered body. <br/><br/>“Stop it! Stop! You're going to kill him!” That was Brienne.</p>
<p>“Not gonna kill him, we need him alive.”</p>
<p>“Watch the head, you stupid cunts!” That was the ringleader, the one who had spoken to him at the store.</p>
<p>He tried to push himself up, but every inch of leverage was stolen by another kick and his ribs protested harder with each attempt. Even breathing brought a stabbing pain and he slumped to the ground, the fight gone from him quickly as it had come.<br/><br/>“That's enough,” the apparent leader finally said. Two men hauled Jaime to his feet. His broken ribs screamed in agony and his legs threatened to give out, but he forced himself to stand, face to face with his kidnapper.</p>
<p>The man spat, a vile wad landing on the front of Jaime's torn sweatshirt. “Jaime Lannister,” he said with the predatory grin he'd worn last night. “I thought you'd have been better.” He snorted, unimpressed, then led them the rest of the way to the warehouse.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Tied to a thick steel pole, Brienne's lower back screamed. She had no idea how long they'd been in the abandoned warehouse. The light had been starting to turn when they'd arrived, but the only windows were a solid thirty feet above them and covered in grime, giving no hints to how much time had passed. She thought she heard thunder somewhere in the distance. The circulation in her duct taped wrists had faded long ago and her legs cramped as she tried impossibly to shift to a more comfortable position. Taped similarly to a pole about ten feet away, Jaime looked even worse than she did, hunched over himself, shuddering against the pain with every breath he drew.</p>
<p>The warehouse itself was foul, long abandoned and filled the rot that came with disuse. The hard concrete floor was littered with debris and scraps of rusted metal bit her skin every time she tried to find a slightly less uncomfortable position. If they did make it out of this, the first thing Brienne was getting was a tetanus shot. It was mostly quiet, but she couldn't even appreciate that because at entirely unpredictable intervals, explosive clanging erupted from a garage door fifteen feet away, making her head pulse hard enough to chatter her teeth. She wouldn't surprised if it was intentional, to keep them panicked. Then men sat across the expanse in an area that was mostly cleared out, save for chairs that should have been trashed before Brienne was born. She could make out the sound of voices, but not what they were saying.</p>
<p>Every now and then, Locke—that was the leader's name—would come over to taunt them. He had brought her water, tipping a filthy Thermos to her lips. She drank until her stomach cramped, then fought the urge to vomit it all back up. Jaime hadn't even gotten that courtesy. Instead, Locke had stood before him, gulping down his own bottle, while talking about how thirsty Jaime must have been. When he was done, he dumped the remaining contents over Jaime's head, leaving him to suck what little liquid he could out of his filthy clothing. Brienne shuddered in revulsion, unable to understand how someone could have so little regard for human life.</p>
<p>While there seemed to be no rule against talking to one another, neither said much. Talking hurt and even if it didn't, it only brought mockery from the guards. She and Jaime seemed to have a silent pact not to give them an ounce more satisfaction than they had to. Tied to their respective poles, they learned instead, to speak with their eyes. <br/><br/><em>I'm sorry.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What are we going to do?<br/><br/>I don't know.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>This is my fault.<br/><br/>It's not.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hate them.<br/><br/>I do too.<br/><br/></em>
  <span>They marked the time in unspoken words, pained glances, growling stomachs, and hope that slipped further and further from their grasps. At some point, rain began to fall on the warehouse roof.</span>
</p>
<p>“Great news!” Locke ambled over, his wide smile sinking a stone of despair in Brienne's bowels. Unwarranted hate oozed from him as he addressed Jaime. “We've brokered a deal for you! A good one, too. How much do you think the late Councilman Tywin Lannister's son would sell for?” He paused, giving Jaime a chance to answer, but Jaime just stared hard at the ground. “No guess?” he taunted, crouching right in front of Jaime's face, forcing him to look up, defeated. “Too bad. Let's just say it's a lot.”<br/><br/>“My family will pay more,” Jaime wheezed out.</p>
<p>“What was that?”<br/><br/>“My family,” he forced the words against his broken ribs, “will pay more.”</p>
<p>Locke shrugged. “Maybe once,” he agreed. “But daddy's dead. The people we're dealing with, well...you'll meet them within the hour. Unfortunately,” he cast a casual glance at Brienne, “They don't want your girlfriend.” Dread drew goosebumps across Brienne's skin, Jaime's earlier words swimming back to the surface.</p>
<p>“What are you going to do with her,” Jaime sputtered out.</p>
<p>“Oh don't worry about her! She and Tinkerbell are going to be good friends.” Locke laughed. Dread bloomed to full blown terror, and that turned to a sick roiling, as he answered their next question with a push of a button that raised the noisy garage door.</p>
<p>Behind the door, something roared, a hideous guttural sound that promised death. Her neck groaned rebellion, but she pushed through, straining to see. The painful clanging exploded again and Brienne's body turned to water as she watched a massive creature batter itself against a chain link fence that barred its exit.</p>
<p>A bear. Sort of a bear. The animal was enormous, twelve feet tall easily. Even from the distance, even with her neck craned painfully, she could see the long ragged claws capping one massive paw as it shook the grate. The other paw wasn't a paw at all, but a heavy metallic arm that flickered with green lights. A red, cybernetic eye peered from that side, honing instantly on Brienne. It reared up on two legs and roared.</p>
<p>Brienne's chest constricted and breathing turned into a full time job as blind panic scraped through her veins. She tore her eyes from the creature to find Jaime drowning in the same fear.<br/><br/>“Tinkerbell's...we got her at a good price. One of Qyburn's projects,” Locke elaborated. “You remember him, from the store?” He spoke lightly, like it was just a funny game, as Brienne furiously twisted against the restraints behind her back. “She was one of his...experiments. She's very lonely.”<br/><br/>Brienne could barely hear him over the blood pumping through her skull. The tape on her wrists remained firmly binding. She was going to be sick. She was going to pass out. <br/><br/>Locke nodded at one of the men and he approached, steering clear of her long legs until he was behind her. She heard the flick of a knife and felt a layer of tape begin to loosen.<br/><br/>“Her father,” she heard Jaime croak.</p>
<p>“Her father, your father,” Locke mimicked. “I don't see any fathers here. What do I give a good godsdamn about any fathers?”<br/><br/>Jaime swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut, and started again. “Her father owns an island. A rich island.” Brienne swam through the panic, watching curiously. “Why do you think we were to be married? Her dad's still in the Capitol and he's fucking loaded.”<br/><br/>Locke paused, considering this. “How loaded?” Brienne watched, wide eyed, too filled with fear to allow even a sliver of hope.</p>
<p>Jaime nodded his head side to side. “Enough that my father wanted that island for himself,” he lied.</p>
<p>Interest spread across Locke's face. “Stop,” he commanded the man, “Leave the big bitch.” The slicing stopped and Brienne found herself still heavily restrained, but she could move her hands a little more and if she could just... She twisted wildly.<br/><br/>Locke seemed to forget her, approaching Jaime. “What were you saying about your family?”</p>
<p>“Double,” Jaime insisted. “Whatever your offer is. I don't care. We'll double it.”</p>
<p>Brienne watched Locke turn that over in his mind. Her stomach swam. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. Jaime had to know it was a trap. She fought the tape harder than ever. <br/><br/>Locke's grin was nothing but malice as he knelt next to Jaime. “I like the sound of double,” he toyed with him, inches from his face. Then he backed off. “I bet you're hungry.”</p>
<p>“Starving, actually!” Jaime took the bait. <br/><br/>“And if I untie you, you're going to be a good pet?”<br/><br/>Jaime pursed his lips and forced a yes. “If you'd just let me call my brother...”<br/><br/>“Great!” Locke agreed, unsheathing a machete to cut Jaime's bindings. “Hey Biter! Grab one of those burgers over there. Mr. Lannister and I have some business.” The food materialized as Locke led Jaime to a rickety old desk. “Eat up,” Locke motioned to the sandwich.<br/><br/>Jaime eyed him warily, but his suspicion fell short. He reached for the burger. Brienne watched in horror as Locke drove a knee into Jaime's back, pinning him to the desk. He leaned over, covering him, holding him in place. “You think you're so special,” he hissed in Jaime's ear, “So important.”</p>
<p>The metal pole pressed hard against Brienne's back, reminding her exactly how powerless she was as she watched Jaime's breathing turn frantic. Locke pushed the machete to his face, right below his eye. The taste of fear and grime and blood pulsed through the room, a living thing that shouldn't exist. He was going to take Jaime's eye. She was sure of it. “The only people you're important to,” he dug the tip in just breaking the skin, “Are the ones coming to get you in an hour.”<br/><br/>He backed off, leaving Jaime gasping for air. Brienne exhaled, not even aware she has stopped breathing. Jaime's eye remained in its socket.<br/><br/>“And here's a souvenir for me.” The machete swung full force, slicing through air, then skin, then bone, clattering to the desk, Jaime's right hand on the other side. His mouth moved like he couldn't understand what was happening, as the stump where his hand had been spurted blood across the grimy Formica. He gasped, eyes rimmed in horror, while his brain caught up to his body, then he screamed.</p>
<p>Brienne yanked on her bindings, scraping and tugging, rucking her hands up and down the pole, feeling the bite of every flaw in the metal. She needed to get to him. She'd tear her hands apart if she had to. She had to...</p>
<p>Locke blithely wiped the bloodied knife on his shirt. “That'll help us both remember.” He bared his vile yellow teeth as a rivulet of Jaime's blood ran down a dent in the desk and pooled on the floor. “Patch 'im up,” he ordered one of the guards, stalking away like he didn't really care what happened.</p>
<p>Brienne's stomach rebelled, and she swallowed hard to keep its meager contents in place as Jaime's screams drove her mad. She was too late. He was going to die. He was going to die slumped over a filthy old desk and she couldn't do a godsdamned thing about it and then she would die too. She looked over at the bear again, lumbering about, all the more angry for its too small cage.</p>
<p>Her skin itched like mad, her hands still too tightly bound to do anything. If she hadn't been half out of her mind already, that sensation alone would have done it.</p>
<p>Two men tended to Jaime, one tying his gushing wrist off in a crude tourniquet while the other tore a ragged old towel into strips. Jaime had stopped screaming, but it wasn't a mercy. His vacant eyes and listless body scared Brienne more than anything they'd seen all night. He was alive, might even stay alive, but the swing of the machete had snuffed the life out of him.</p>
<p>She scraped her back against the pole, trying to quell the intense itching. She'd been in shock before, once, when her brother drowned and she tried to remember what it was like. She didn't remember itching.</p>
<p>The men used a dirty sock to hold the scraps of towel in place and forced some pills down Jaime's throat, finally allowing him a few gulps of water, then dragged him back against his pole, neglecting to bind him again. It didn't matter. He'd clearly given up on escape, if not life entirely. He slumped against it, broken, and Brienne would have given the gods her own hand just to hear him call her harpy again. Instead, he cradled his maimed wrist, staring like he could still see his hand.</p>
<p>She struggled against the tape, drawing the attention of the men.<br/><br/>“Don't worry, gorgeous,” one of them sneered, just before stalking off to join the others. “We got a better friend for you!” The other laughed, gleeful at the prospect of watching her be torn to bits.<br/><br/>She didn't care about escape anymore or even the bear, she just had to scratch. Kicking off her shoes, she tried scratching at one leg with her foot on the other, finding some desperate relief, but it wasn't enough. The itch had turned to a burn and the burn consumed her in a way that took over her whole mind. Her focus stolen, she whipped her head side to side, the pain receding to a dull thud compared to wildfire crawling over her skin. <br/><br/>She needed to get a grip. <br/><br/><em>One. Two. Three. </em><span>She counted in her head, trying to grab hold of anything, a single modicum of clarity, anything but the feeling her skin was tearing free of her body. What was happening to her?<br/><br/>She ground her wrists behind her, feeling the tape begin to fray and snap. That brought her back to herself and three seconds of lucidity was enough for her to look up, finding Jaime's saucer wide eyes boring into her, mouth hanging open as he pointed with his right arm like the hand was still attached.</span></p>
<p>Brienne jerked her gaze down to herself. Her clothing was puffed and swollen, stuffed with feathers begging to be freed. The patch of skin on her leg where she'd rucked her pantleg up to itch, wasn't skin colored at all, but a sickly, mottled gray. She gave one hard tug on her wrists, snapping the tape free to bring her hands to her face. Each finger was capped in a curved, razor sharp talon..</p>
<p>Brienne's focus narrowed to the pinprick realization. The curse! Her medication. She had changed. She had...it had been years since she'd seen herself this way. Brienne held her arm in front of her, marveling at the thick, gray feathers straining through the cuff of her shirt. The itching had stopped, and she stretched her fingers, the digits too long, hers but not her all at once.</p>
<p>“The fuck?” One of the men screamed.</p>
<p>Her head jerked up, remembering where she was. It took Brienne seconds to claw free from the restrictive sweatshirt, testing the wings that sat where her arms had been. It felt foreign and familiar and terrifying that it was either. It felt like salvation.</p>
<p>Everything turned reactive. She drew herself into the air, descending on the sound of the voice. Her claws worked just as well on the man's flesh as they had on the sweatshirt. A spray of blood splashed across her. Pandemonium tore through the warehouse, men darting in every direction. Shots boomed, one of them clipping her feathers, missing her flesh by inches. She landed on terrorized men, one by one, leaving crumpled heaps that looked like little more than old, wet rags. Her heart pounded, blood pumping through her veins, but Brienne wasn't aware of much other than a single focus: Find Locke. Everyone else simply stood in the way.</p>
<p>She honed in on him, charging her from behind, swinging the machete. It caught her ankle, as spun, sending a shock of pain through her, but the pain only fueled her fury. She circled, watching him duck and run, feeding on the panicked terror in his eyes. He scrambled for something, rolling across the floor to duck under the desk where he'd maimed Jaime.</p>
<p>Jaime! Brienne had half an instant to register him, leaned against his pole, even his severed hand seemingly forgotten. His mouth hung open, a mix of horror and dazed awe. The bloodied sock capping the arm where his hand should have been tore her back to her purpose. She dropped to the ground next to where Locke was trying to hide.</p>
<p>Rain battered the roof as she waited, relishing the taste of his fear. <br/><br/>“Don't kill me. Don't...I'll give you—”<br/><br/>Brienne lashed out, claws flying like this was what they were created for. Locke screamed, first in disbelief, then agony, and then sheer unrelenting terror as she tore him apart. A bloody mist puffed from between his barely panting lips. Something tipped from his hand. The remote.<br/><br/>The screech of metal against metal echoed through the building, breaking the lull of the rain. Brienne looked up just in time to see the chain link fence pulled back and the bear creature running at full force. Tucked half under the desk, she scrambled to free herself, almost too slowly, the creature's metal claws raking across her hip. It reared up on its hind legs, twelve feet at least, grappling to tear her from the sky. She flew to the ceiling, circling, trying to find the best opening, that red cybernetic eye, tracking, tracing, following her every move.</p>
<p>
  <em>That</em>
  <span> she thought. She had to take out the eye. She dove toward it, dodging, pulling away. The bear's arms were easily three feet long and it batted mercilessly, like she was an annoying bug. The crushing air filled with the sound of primal roars against the driving rain. It tasted of blood. Brienne dove again, this time ignoring the blows that battered her. A claw to the side almost knocked her to the ground, but she fought to hold her position, stretching, reaching... Her talons found their mark, sinking in to the fleshy part of the bear's face. She ground and dug, feeling claws rake against her again, then finally, she felt a snap. </span>
</p>
<p>The bear wuffled in pain, stumbling backward while it batted at its face. The eye swung back and forth, an absurd pendulum hanging from the creature's face, still red, still tracking. She used the distraction to swoop away, gathering her bearings for a second attack. One more should do it and she was so close, and then she could tend to Jaime and explain everything and he was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Another noise pulled her from her frenzy.</p>
<p>The sound of doors slamming. The sound of doors slamming outside the warehouse.</p>
<p>The buyers. She'd forgotten the buyers. Abandoning the enraged creature, she dove instead toward Jaime. He was listless and lost and desperately needed attention, but there wasn't time. She could hear gravel crunching outside now, footsteps drawing close. Gently as her talons and limited time would allow, she lifted Jaime under his arms and pulled him into the air. The bear had regained control and was charging, red eye still hanging from its face. Her wings strained at the added weight, flapping them upward, toward the ceiling, as the bear's claws narrowly missed Jaime's dangling foot. She battered her aching shoulder into one of the dusty old windows, wrenching it free, just as his would be buyers stepped into the warehouse.</p>
<p>They soared into the dusky, rain filled sky.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really went back and forth on book or show for this part. Ultimately, I'm more familiar with the show and took the path of least resistance. Probably for the first time in my life.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A well needed rest!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne wasn't sure how long they flew, but her aching arms told her it had been too long. The rain had lightened some, but not enough, her sodden feathers dragging them down. Holding on to Jaime grew increasingly tedious and she knew their time was limited. They had to find somewhere to stop. Below them stretched endless empty plains, scattered with rocks and dead grass. At most, there was the occasional corrugated shed or looming warehouse, the latter making her shudder. There would never be enough miles between them and the place they'd come from.</p>
<p>She'd been hoping for Tysha's, but their midnight ride had rendered that dream impossible. Instead, she scoured the skies for a hospital she could drop him in front of it and hope for the best. The risk was huge, last night had proven him right about that, but she knew he'd already gone too long without medical attention. It was the only option. Unfortunately, the possibility of finding one dropped with every pained flap of her wings.</p>
<p>She felt Jaime slip an inch, then scramble for purchase with his good hand, and breathed out gratitude that he was still conscious. She tried to imagine what was going on his mind right now, and realized she couldn't even fathom it. If she'd thought the marriage was rolling out of control down a hill, this was falling off a rocky cliff.</p>
<p>The desolation stretched and if she hadn't been so desperate for a place to land, Brienne would have appreciated the lack of people around to spot her odd silhouette against the sky. Still sighed in relief as signs of civilization thickened, breaking up the empty fields and lots. Then, off in the distance, she saw possibility. Metal broke and twisted from the horizon, some kind of demented beacon against the fading light. Determined, Brienne set her jaw, pushing them toward the distorted structures.</p>
<p>The amusement park was almost certainly defunct, a relic sitting on the outskirts of the city where families once vacationed. Now it was a private oasis, a place for only her and Jaime. Even with thick feathers covering most of her body, her skin was chilled and clammy. Brienne shuddered, wondering how much misery Jaime was in. The park had to have at least a few dry buildings and if she was lucky—she really deserved to be lucky—maybe even a first aid station. The last of her adrenaline was draining fast and she forced her fatigued limbs to continue, pushing them along their pilgrimage.</p>
<p>She gasped relief when the faded rusting letters over the entrance—Harrenhal's Fun Park, they read—came into view. It was definitely abandoned, but it would do. Brienne just had to get them across the parking lot. Five hundred feet, then three hundred, she closed the gap, each flap of her exhausted wings threatening to be the last. Twenty feet brought them almost face to face with entry signs, then she was through, dropping to the ground in front of the first building she saw.</p>
<p>'The Bathhouse' boasted a sign held by an old wooden dragon that was probably cute and welcoming once upon a time, but was now grody with decay. Jaime swayed on his feet when she set him down, and she leaned in, grabbing him before he could fall. Gratitude crossed his features, before he remembered how mystified he was, changing his expression to something more appropriate. He didn't speak, but she knew claiming they had a lot to talk about later was the understatement of the year. For now, he leaned against her, allowing her to lead him inside.</p>
<p>The Bathhouse was a fun house, timeworn for sure, but also the perfect place for hiding. For one thing, it was dry and she let herself shiver, scattering water drops across everything. Inside, the air was stale, but comfortably warm, and the small, cluttered rooms couldn't have been more dissimilar from the horror house they'd escaped. Brienne allowed a watery smile. This would be alright.</p>
<p>The second room had a padded floor that would be the perfect spot for Jaime to rest while she sought supplies. Helping him to the ground, she pressed her hand to his forehead. He didn't feel feverish, and she sent a quick thanks to all seven gods. His eyes widened, as if seeing her for the first time.<br/><br/>“You're a—” he tried, voice hoarse and raspy, “A, a...”</p>
<p>“A harpy,” she said simply. If circumstances were different, she thought they might have laughed.</p>
<p>“A harpy,” he contemplated, brow furrowed like he'd never used the word before.<br/><br/>She nodded weakly. “Jaime,” she said, her voice soft and patient, trying to keep him calm but also break through his haze so he'd understand what she was saying. “I need to go find us supplies. Are you going to be okay?”<br/><br/>She really doubted he would. He was clearly in shock and she suspected when that wore off, he'd be a disaster. She couldn't let him fall apart alone.</p>
<p>He nodded anyway, repeating a mumbled, “Harpy,” under his breath.</p>
<p>She bit her lip, second, then third guessing herself, but in the end she gently ordered him to get some rest and stole back through the entrance.</p>
<p>The park was a fascinating time capsule that Brienne wished she'd found in some other life that would allow her a chance to fully explore. The time dulled colors and nostalgic kitsch didn't do justice to what the place had likely been in its heyday. Still, she was on a mission and urban exploration was not it. She trudged through decades of dead leaves and debris, searching for anything that could help them.</p>
<p>Awry didn't even begin to address the direction the last 24 or so hours had taken, so Brienne nearly wept when finally, after everything, she hit a jackpot. Water. Bottled water. It was old, but it was sealed and their only other option at the moment were the puddles outside. Brienne guzzled the cool liquid until her stomach cramped, vomited, then drank some more. Then she lifted a case, finding an ounce of renewed strength in her arms.</p>
<p>The first aid station had been empty, cleared of nearly everything, but she had, shockingly, stumbled into food. She grimaced at the economy sized cans of cheese food product, but when she wrenched one open with a talon, the stuff inside was still bright yellow and edible. Despite the sealed packaging, the bags of tortilla chips were undoubtedly stale, but she grabbed two anyway because stale chips and plastic cheese still sounded better than starvation. She wedged a fresh, unopened can of cheese under her arm, atop the water and continued on when a yellow building off in the distance caught her attention.</p>
<p>That was the real gem. Employee barracks. They were rundown as everything else in the park, but surprisingly, she found closets stocked with fresh linens and even some simple first aid supplies. Briefly, she considered how hard it would be to move Jaime over here, but shook her head. There was a lot more moisture than in the fun house and besides, she knew she'd have to move him again eventually. The less the better and right now, they both needed rest.</p>
<p>She spread a sheet on a dry patch of floor, tossing several more sheets, three flat pillows, towels, gauze pads and bandages, a tube of Neosporin (which she looked at dumbly before adding it to the pile), an old mercury thermometer, a bottle of generic ibuprofen, a flashlight she couldn't believe still worked, and the food items. Wrapping the ends of the sheet together, she shouldered it like a knapsack, tucked the water back under her arm, and trekked the half a mile or so back to the fun house.</p>
<p>“Jaime?” she called, fingers of dread tiptoeing down her back. She knew, just knew, something was wrong. Too much had gone right and the scales had to tip back the other way so she'd get back to find Jaime's corpse. He'd have died alone, scared and in shock. The closer she got, the more convinced of that reality she became, dread turning to panic that shivered through her veins. She dropped the pack in the first room, breaking into a sprint. “Jaime!” If only she hadn't taken so long.<br/><br/>Jaime wasn't dead though. He was sleeping, leaned against the padded wall, arm clutched against his chest, just as she'd left him. She dropped the the floor beside him, gulping down air and muttering, “You're okay. We're okay.” Over and over, it became a mantra as her breath slowed to normal. A tear dropped down her face, then another, leaving hot streaks across her dirt crusted cheeks. She stayed like that, on the floor next to him, rocking back and forth, afraid to touch him, afraid if she did, he wouldn't be real, until she slowly came back to herself. Wiping her cheeks with the back of an embarrassed hand, she moved to stand, but Jaime's eyes squinted open.</p>
<p>“Harpy?” he said weakly.</p>
<p>She nodded, giving him a watery smile, something she hadn't been certain she could ever do again. “I got us some stuff. Water and blankets. And food!” The words spilled from her like he could fade at any second and she had to get them all out at once.</p>
<p>He just stared at her with awed green eyes. “I dreamed of you.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Jaime woke to Brienne's spot empty, folded sheets the only sign she'd been there at all. He didn't know what time it was—hells, he didn't even know what day it was. He felt like he'd slept a year, and could probably sleep another one, but he also felt like some semblance of himself again. A lesser version, he thought, glancing bitterly at the gauze capping the end of his right arm, but some of the fog in his head had dissipated and it was the closest he ever thought he'd come to feeling good again. <br/><br/>Good, of course, was relative and his hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Uncapping a bottle of flat, flavorless water, he swallowed down a handful of ibuprofen, wishing they were something a little stronger. Cocaine might have sufficed.</p>
<p>He studied Brienne's spot as if she were still there, squished against the thin pillows she'd miraculously found, soft snores following the rise of her chest. He could almost see her homely face, spared the patches of mottled gray that had thinned as they climbed her neck. Feathers. Wings. A real godsdamned Harpy.<br/><br/>A stray feather lay on the ground near his own spot, and he leaned forward to pick it up, running the length through his fingers.</p>
<p>It should have shocked him more. Most likely, it would have if he hadn't been in the midst of losing his hand. And probably his mind. Now it just seemed like novelty. Like all the other things he didn't know about her, which was pretty much everything except that she was a good person. That he knew for certain. She'd done nothing but care for him since their escape, not even tending to her own wounds until he reminded her of them. She was a good person.</p>
<p>
  <em>(She likes museums.)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>(She thinks fizzy water is gross.)<br/><br/>(She's given you more chances than anyone else ever has.)<br/><br/>(Stop it!)</em>
</p>
<p>He didn't need to know anything else, he reminded himself. Soon they'd be home and he'd be back to...whatever normal meant with a missing hand and a dead father. It almost certainly didn't involve Brienne. With Tywin out of the picture, he found it unlikely her father would force the deal. It didn't matter if she was a harpy any more than it mattered that she was a good person. It didn't matter if she could conjure seas from nothing (she probably couldn't) or captivate school classes with tales of the first female knight (she probably could) or that no blue could rival that of her eyes (okay, he did know that). Jaime didn't need to know more. He didn't want to know more.</p>
<p>Unbidden, his dream haunted him. He didn't even remember that much of it, only that he had been alone, swallowed by darkness, and at his most desperate, it had been Brienne who came for him, lit like a beacon. Jaime had never put much stock in the meaning of dreams and this was no exception, but he knew how it made him feel—deeply, deeply uncomfortable. Like there was an answer he didn't want to a question he didn't know to ask.</p>
<p>He needed to get out of his head. Pulling himself up, he left his thoughts in the pile of crumpled, threadbare sheets. At first, he considered venturing outside, but it was still raining and he'd finally, despite not believing it would ever happen again, gotten warm. Instead, he walked blindly through the halls of the fun house, shuffling his feet to stop himself from walking into the walls.</p>
<p>Stumbling through disorienting rooms full of booby traps with nearly no light and a maimed right arm was probably one of his worst ideas. It wasn't long before the darkness nagged at him, reminding him of his dream and the van and the fact that no good lurked in the shadows. He tripped twice, the second time banging his arm against one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. His pained howl echoed more than it should have in the crowded room. The twists and turns addled him and a sliver of light from a crack in the ceiling fell on a pair of eyes watching him silently. Jaime screamed. It was Locke. It didn't matter that Locke was dead, he knew it anyway. Scrambling backwards, he fell again, teeth clacking together and sending a painful jolt through his skull. 'Locke' turned out to be an old, stuffed pirate, there for scaring kids. Jaime ran his hands over his face as his breathing steadied. He had a notion to turn back but decided he was likely close to the end and it would be faster to stick it out. He thought he could see something like light peeking out from around a corner in the distance.</p>
<p>The room he stood in felt mercifully empty as he crossed the floor and climbed onto a narrow bridge running through a long tunnel. He suspected it was one of those vortex things where the tunnel spins around the bridge, giving the illusion of spiraling upside down. Obviously there was no power, but Jaime didn't need an illusion anyway.</p>
<p>From the tunnel though, he could see he was right! There was a turn and from the turn filtered a weak, gauzy light. He'd found the exit!</p>
<p>He tore down the tunnel, metal clanging under his shoes, and dove around the corner to freedom.</p>
<p>His breath caught, hard, an off-kilter dizziness racking him. He hadn't found the exit.</p>
<p>He'd found Brienne. The light he'd seen was from her flashlight, magnified hundreds of times by the hundreds of mirrors she peered into, searching. She jumped slightly, wary of his presence, drawing her knees tighter to her chest. Blue eyes followed him from every corner of the room.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” she asked. She clutched herself, guarded, like he'd walked in on something deeply intimate that she didn't want him to see. He hated how much it bothered him.</p>
<p>“Relax,” he said. “I got lost.” He glanced around, unsettled at seeing himself from so many angles, then shambled over to the real Brienne and plopped down next to her.<br/><br/>“You're staying?” She was aghast, clearly not wanting him there. He'd thought she'd be happy for his company. Yesterday, she had been fearful to let him out of her sight. But that was yesterday. Maybe the peace they'd found with each other had simply been one of necessity. Now, with room to breathe, he saw the reality. There were too many secrets, too many things learned about one another too quickly, under all the wrong circumstances. Too much for their fragile friendship to withstand and no real reason to bother trying.</p>
<p>“Why'd you pick this place anyway?” It was more complaint than curiosity and he watched her shoulders rise in defense.<br/><br/>“It was the first reasonable place I saw,” she snapped. <br/><br/>"This," he looked around in disgust, "is reasonable?"<br/><br/>“I could have left you.”<br/><br/>“You could have pulled your little...” he raked his eyes up and down her body in accusation, “Stunt...an hour earlier. I might still have two hands.”</p>
<p>Brienne shot to her feet, seething with rage. Scraps of her t-shirt still hung from her, but her breasts, still very human in shape were clearly visible beneath. He felt a baffling twitch in his pants. There was no way this could be arousing but he was already half hard. He had to be going out of his mind. Yanking his tight-jawed gaze to her face, he tried to push those thoughts away. <br/><br/>“I'm sorry,” he forced, genuine but difficult nonetheless. “That was wrong. I'd be dead or worse if not for you.”<br/><br/>She sank back to the ground, but the suspicion didn't leave her posture. “It's a curse,” she mumbled staring her mirror image dead in the eyes, like Jaime wasn't even there. “I don't control it.”</p>
<p>He studied the same mirror she gazed into. Her arms were wrapped back around her knees, long wings folded protectively around herself. The gash in her side was visible, shallow, considering, but angry and red. Her feathers were beaten and tattered and she was clearly in need of a hot bath. Her face was still entirely hers and in the middle of it the blue of her eyes threatened to drown him.</p>
<p>“It's not a bad look for you.”<br/><br/>She snapped her head toward him, glowering. “Don't you mock me!”<br/><br/>“I'm not mocking you,” he dismissed. “I'm trying to make peace. I want us...I think we should call a truce.”</p>
<p>“We have a truce. I'll get you back to Tysha's and—”</p>
<p>“A real truce,” he cut in.<br/><br/>“You need trust for that.”<br/><br/>He appraised her again, impulsive tongue heavy in his mouth. The truth was, he'd never trusted anyone more. “I trust you.”</p>
<p>Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, then she deflated, turning back to the mirror. Their copies watched in swollen silence, an accusatory jury that delivered a guilty verdict before either of them had even figured out to say.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, curse?” he asked when the quiet became too much to take. <br/><br/>She bit her lip, drew a breath. Glanced from the corner of her eye, as if she were physically unable to look him in the face. He had given up on her answering at all, when she quietly spoke. “My father...he had a girlfriend. Well, he had a lot of girlfriends, but this one...” she breathed in, long and slow, and Jaime was struck with the realization she'd never told this story before. “It didn't work out. She really wanted it to, had planned to spend her life with him, and when it didn't, she wanted revenge. That revenge was me.” She finally met his eye, peering shyly through her pale lashes. She was waiting for his judgment.<br/><br/>Jaime was too confused for that. “So, wait...she turned you into a harpy...to get back at your dad? What?”<br/><br/>Brienne sniffed, nodding her head with a joyless laugh. <br/><br/>“How? Why?” He was incredulous, full of more questions than he could put to words.</p>
<p>Brienne shrugged, still reserved, like he would shun her at any moment. “It was the worst thing she could think of, I guess. Said he'd see her pain through me. That the curse would break when—if--I married.” She looked away, back to the mirror.</p>
<p>At least it had an easy fix! “Why didn't you just find someone to marry you.”<br/><br/>She stared, expressionless, at his reflection.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Something clicked into place. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You didn't seem interested in the money, so I assumed it was my looks.” He half grinned, trying to reassure her that he wasn't going to flee. “But arranged? Why didn't you just find someone?” He was prying and he probably shouldn't, but there were so many questions.<br/><br/>“You think I haven't seen myself?” she snapped, making him immediately regret the asking. “Big, ugly, mannish... Hells, Jaime, even without the curse, I'd have never found someone.” She was staring at herself again, blue eyes boring into the mirror like if she looked hard enough, she'd transform into someone else. It reminded him of the day they met and he was crushed by an unexpected wave of shame. He had sliced open a wound, left another scar, and any apology he could conjure seemed so trite. Instead, he let his own guilt eat at him, as they fell again into another tense silence.</p>
<p>He turned his head to another mirror, where hopefully she wouldn't see him watching her. He'd already done enough and if she caught him, she would take it all wrong. She wasn't pretty, but so what? Somewhere in all of this, he'd discovered he liked looking at her anyway. She was kind and interesting. The harpy thing was actually pretty fucking cool and had definitely saved his ass. He wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn't believe him, so instead he sat, watching her silently catalog her flaws, trying hard to stop thinking so much. Thoughts like that were dangerous.</p>
<p>He needed to comfort her. He needed to stop staring. He needed to follow through on a promise for once, and marry her, at least for her sake. He needed to help get her safely home so he could leave her in his memories, the way he'd left his hand back at that filthy old warehouse. Her confession should have thinned the tension in the room, but instead bounced from mirror to mirror, growing wild and unable to be tamed. He needed a release valve. He needed to apologize. He needed to forgive himself. His heart clenched.</p>
<p>“I interned for him.” She jumped slightly, curiosity tinged eyes turning toward him. “Aerys. My father said I had to learn the ropes. One day I'd take a seat at the council and following my own father would be...unprofessional, so he stuck me with High Councilor Targaryen.” Jaime spat the name sarcastically. He watched her eyes dawn with realization. If tonight was for confession, he'd better make it a good one. “The man thought he was power incarnate. Had the people thinking he was one of the gods...Might have even thought it himself. If he was a god, he was a malevolent one.” Aerys was never a god though, and Jaime's own knife had proven that.<br/><br/>“You've never heard of The Dragon Project...” he watched her growing interest. “No. Of course you haven't. Only his most trusted advisors knew about that. And me. I got to listen in just enough.” Brienne shifted slightly toward him. “It was a...secret pet.</p>
<p>“Everyone thought my father was the worst of the council, but he wasn't, not really. Make no mistake, he was ethical by no standard, but Aerys... Aerys was something else entirely.” Jaime had Brienne's full attention and he allowed the words he'd never spoken to flood out. “You see, Aerys hated his constituents. Hated all of us really, but especially them. You should have heard him talk, how they muddied the gene pool, how they changed our values. They were dirty, scum who didn't respect the hierarchy and wanted everything handed to them. They were the enemy that would see his grand kingdom to ashes. The poor were the most immediate danger, since they were the least satisfied and greatest in numbers. If he could just thin the flock...” He paused, swallowing as he remembered overhearing those exact words. “So he hatched The Dragon Project in secrecy.</p>
<p>“It started by coincidence with the water treatment plant in Flea Bottom. When it privatized, he granted the contract to a wealthy friend of his. Costs were immediately cut at the expense of those living there. Standards were lowered, crucial personnel let go. And Aerys had an idea to quietly dispose of the poor.<br/><br/>“He had ordered chemicals pumped into the water.” Jaime watched horror flicker across Brienne's face. “Top secret, of course, the kind of shit you ignore memes about on the internet. None of the council could know, especially those opposed to the privatization in the first place. It hit children the hardest, but most didn't seem to notice. It was the slums. Rundown, rife with unhealthy diet and lacking in any kind of decent medical care. It was no surprise mortality was greater there. Some asked questions, but most people didn't even think of it, wrapped up in their own sad lives, completely unaware that there was a murderous conspiracy against the guy making their burgers and the lady bagging their dry cleaning. If anything, people liked him more than ever. Fewer poor make the numbers look better.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “It was genocide.” Jaime shuddered in revulsion. Brienne was leaning forward, elbows resting on her crossed knees. His tale had clearly shaken her, but she looked like she believed it.</p>
<p>“He'd just gotten off the phone that morning, busy brokering another deal for another water treatment plant in another slum. I begged him not to do it and he laughed at me. Laughed! Told me to keep my mouth shut or he'd have my father's seat. He'd arrange an accident,” he emphasized the word with pointed meaning, “if he had to. The man was deranged and no one else knew it.” Jaime paused. Swallowed.</p>
<p>“So I arrived early one morning. I knew he had a meeting with Councilman Stark later that day, and Aerys had to wrap up all those private matters before he arrived. He sat there, looming in his big, ugly chair, bought on the backs of the civilians he despised so much. He barely even looked up when I entered. I splashed his coffee in his eyes and while he was distracted, I slit his throat with a pocket knife.” Brienne drew a sharp breath, and he clung to his cavalier exterior. Inside he was drowning.</p>
<p>“I remember his eyes the most, wild reptilian things, that didn't see people, only power and threats to that power. I watched the blood spill out of him, down the front of his shirt and the tie that would have fed his victims for a week. And when the light left those inhuman eyes, I was happy. That's how Ned Stark found me. Sitting in Aerys' chair, smiling.”</p>
<p>The room was shrinking, mirrors closing around him. Infinite harpies watched his deepest confession. It was far too crowded, filled with too many of her, too many of him. He squeezed his eyes shut to make them go away, to drown out the pounding in his head and the throbbing where his hand should be. He hadn't realized how hot it was in here.</p>
<p>Brienne's voice beckoned him back. “Why didn't you say anything? Councilman Stark—” </p>
<p>Jaime paused, trying to get his bearings. His head was splitting in two and his blood boiled. He'd done the right thing. He knew it, even if no one else ever did. His “trial” had been a sham, a closed door council meeting where he wasn't even allowed to speak. Tywin spoke for him, banishing him from the room for deliberations and reappearing two hours later with a smug smile and a disgraced, albeit free, son. He knew that if his last name had been anything but Lannister, he'd have been executed.</p>
<p>He'd settled for that, knowing he had his life, watching prospects for more dwindle to nothing. He hadn't really needed them anyway. For a while, he'd been able to trick himself into thinking it made things easier. He could float through, unaccountable, not needing to impress anyone. Letting them believe whatever they wanted. Then his father had dropped Brienne on him, and here she sat, watching him from every angle only it wasn't judgment in her eyes, it was something like belief. It hit him that he really needed her to believe him. He didn't know why, he just did.</p>
<p>“Stark? Stark thought I was thought I was shit from the day he met me,” he spat dryly. “Tywin Lannister's golden heir. He judged me as a lesser version of my father from long before Aerys.”</p>
<p>“Councilman Baratheon, then. The news. Someone would have listened. Your father—”</p>
<p>His chest constricted and when his voice came, it was rough, barely his at all. “My father,” he ground out, “never even asked what happened,” Jaime was underwater now, unable stave off the thoughts that battered him. “He didn't care, just looked at me like I'd spilled grape juice on the carpet and he had to clean it up.” <em>She's listening,</em> he mind protested. <em>She cares what happened. </em>He felt like he was burning. “He only cared what it did to our family.”</p>
<p>Breathing had begun to hurt and his head weighed a ton. Spots danced in his vision and he vaguely prepared his body to hit the floor, but instead, he felt Brienne's arms circle around him every bit as strong as he'd guessed, but her gentleness surprised him. His mind was a toxic haze as he forced out meaningless words he was desperate for her to hear. He needed her approval. He needed her to see him. “I'm not my father, you know. I'm just Jaime.” It was nonsense. Everything turned to fuzz.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of you for your lovely reviews! I plan to respond personally after the reveal, but for now, they really mean a lot!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A reunion.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Panic seized Brienne the same way the heat from Jaime's feverish skin prickled into her body, spreading slowly but sinking deep. The worst of her fears was coming true. She could feel his warmth even in places they weren't touching, radiating off of him in waves. She'd been stupid to stop, stupid to let him go on like that. His confession had taken the last of him and she hadn't even had time to give him absolution.</p>
<p>She had to check his hand, had to cool him down. Moving him was a him was a bad idea but she was stuck for any other ones. Heaving him over her shoulder, she pulled him through the last of the fun house, along side the building, and back to the room where they'd made camp. Frantically, she tore a sheet to strips, soaked them with water and packed them around his burning face. Then, carefully, she undid the wraps around his wrist. Accusatory lines radiated the length of forearm, like a bad childhood paper marked in red ink. The top was crusted with blood and pus, emanating the faint smell of fresh infection.</p>
<p>Brienne's panic cut to the bone. Frantic, she tore their supplies apart, knowing nothing in them would help now. She tried to wake him enough to take some ibuprofen, at least enough to stave off the worst of the fever, but he remained unresponsive.</p>
<p>Fuck. <em>Fuck!</em><span> She cupped her hands over her eyes, trying to ground herself. She needed to stay calm. If she went into a frenzy, she couldn't do anything to help him. First, she needed to cool him down. The infection wouldn't matter if the fever fried his brain. Carefully, she tore the remnants of his sweatshirt along his right side, peeling them back gently so they wouldn't touch his wrist. She pulled off the remainder of the garment, straightening the sweaty, gray t-shirt beneath. She left his jeans on, then rolled them to the knees, packing more wet cloth around all his exposed skin.</span></p>
<p>She leaned back on her ankles, hoping she bought herself a moment to think. He needed a hospital and he needed it yesterday, but she had no clue where to find one. And what about when she did? Would they sell him to the highest bidder, like the bounty hunters had? Would they arrest him and throw him in a cell? She was going to make the wrong choice and he'd suffer forever for it. But if she didn't do something, he was going to die. She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Counted to ten.</p>
<p>Without really thinking, she reached into the pocket of his jeans. Nothing. Of course not, Locke and his goons had cleaned them out. All that remained was a crumpled napkin.</p>
<p>The napkin!</p>
<p>She smoothed the paper out, unable to believe her luck as she read the words. They didn't mean much, she still had no idea how to find the address, but it was something. <br/><br/>Fastening a crude harness out of another sheet, she dragged Jaime outside and attached it to him, still fearful of how much further she was damaging him. There was no other choice though. She needed to get him to safety. He let out a muffled groan as she lifted him, her own broken body protesting as well. She felt one of the gashes on her side open, but when they hit the sky, the pain faded into a rush of desperate adrenaline. She left the park behind, flying in the direction with the most buildings.</p>
<p>
  <span>Any remnants of sun were gone before the lights began twinkling below. They mostly belonged to homes and she knew stopping at any of them was a gamble, and probably not in her favor. The closest thing she had to a plan was almost as foolish and she knew in her heart that it would fail, she'd be discovered, and Jaime would die. Still, it was the best she could think of and flying over the city, even in the cover of darkness, she was certain she'd be found out no matter what she did. Scanning the ground below, she felt relief wash over her when she finally, finally saw what she was looking for. A gas station!<br/><br/>She landed in back, settling Jaime to the ground next to the dense brush. His breathing was shallow, but steady, and his skin had cooled considerably. She didn't like how pale he'd grown, but there wasn't much she could do about that, other than what she was already doing.</span>
</p>
<p>His eyes flickered open, then closed again. “Harpy, what're we...” he slurred.</p>
<p>“Ssh,” she hushed. “You need to stay here. I'm getting directions. We're on our way to Tysha's.”<br/><br/>He nodded, although she was pretty sure he hadn't understood a thing she'd said. Stretching and trying not to think about how badly her body ached, she wrapped the extra sheet around herself the best she could and crossed her fingers.</p>
<p>
  <span>The small store was empty, save for an older clerk who didn't even look up when she entered, and a college aged boy, who peered up curiously from the rack of candy bars he'd been examining. She breathed in, palmed the napkin, and approached the desk. <br/><br/>“Excuse me?”<br/><br/>The clerk looked up, squinted, and raised an eyebrow. Brienne bet he saw a lot of strange things. She couldn't be the strangest.<br/><br/>“I, uh...I'm headed to a costume party...” He hadn't asked. She berated herself for giving more details than necessary. “Could you tell me where this address is?” She shoved the napkin at him, pulling her hand back before he could look too closely at her </span>
  <em>costume</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>He looked at the napkin, back to her, back to the napkin again, brow furrowing tighter with each shift of his eyes. “You're not even close. That's like an hour north east.”</p>
<p>An hour northeast. Her aching wings protested, but she could do it. That wouldn't be so bad. The clerk was watching her, obviously aware that something was off, but he seemed confident she wasn't going to rob him or anything. “Okay, how do I get there?” She was vaguely aware of the boy, still watching and that raised the feathers on the back of her neck.</p>
<p>The clerk sucked a breath through his teeth. “I can getcha to the general area. You'll have to find the place from there though. Best I can do.”<br/><br/>“Okay,” she agreed, bobbing her head. “General area works.” She sighed in relief, studying the rows of gum beneath the counter as he wrote down the directions. He hadn't called the police or pulled out a shot gun, and she was reasonably assured he wasn't going to. Her wings throbbed, from the long flight, from Jaime's extra weight, but she'd just have to force them along. She could do an hour. She could do ten hours if it meant that he would live.</p>
<p>
  <span>Brienne hadn't processed Jaime's confession, hadn't had time, but she knew something had shifted between them. She thought about his story and how he'd sold himself for the lives of...of how many? He wasn't what she'd thought he was at all. He was brave, compassionate... Feelings she'd been trying to keep compartmentalized since their afternoon at the museum a thousand years ago began to push their way out of the box. She slammed the lid down. Actual feelings for Jaime were not something she had time for right now.<br/><br/>“Ma'am?” she blushed, suddenly aware the clerk had been calling her. He slid a paper across the counter. She plucked it up, talons scraping the stainless steel more than she liked. He looked her up and down again. “Nice costume.”<br/><br/>“Thanks,” she gave a half-smile and turned for the door, brushing past the boy. That had gone better than she'd expected and she couldn't push their luck.</span>
</p>
<p>Jaime was exactly where she'd left him, returned mercifully to sleep. She began fastening the other end of the harness to her own legs, preparing for the rest of the trip when the gravel crunched behind her. She jolted up, defensive, as her head craned wildly over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Don't hurt me!” The boy from the store stood behind her, mouth agape, eyes wide with awe.</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit!</em>
</p>
<p>This was a problem. Maybe. He didn't look threatening, and Brienne easily had the upper hand if that proved wrong. But he could call someone and if he did...</p>
<p>“Don't,” he started again. “I'm just— You're a harpy!” His voice was filled with astonishment.</p>
<p>Brienne nodded dumbly. The boy wasn't going to hurt her, she was sure of that, but then why had he followed her out? It didn't matter. Unless she wanted Jaime to die behind some cruddy old gas station, the boy was irrelevant.</p>
<p>“Oh wow! Oh! Wow!” His smile took up half his face, while amazement claimed the rest. “I'm a—I'm a mythology student,” he stuttered out. “I knew you...knew creatures...existed. I never thought I'd meet a harpy!”<br/><br/>Her momentary relief faded into frustration. She didn't have time to be a curiosity for some overly exuberant college kid. “You're not meeting one now,” she answered, colder than she intended. “I have... My friend is hurt,” she softened. “I have to get him to help.”<br/><br/>Instead of backing off, the boy stepped closer, eyes growing impossibly wider. “That's...”<br/><br/>“Yes. That's Jaime Lannister. And I'm a harpy.” All the fears and frustrations she'd been holding tumbled out of Brienne at once. “We were attacked by some bad people and I suspect some others are still after us. I'm in a lot of pain and I still have to fly another hour, carrying him, because if I don't he is going to die. So I'm sorry, but I just can't indulge whatever little fantasy you're having right now.” There. Straight and to the point. She turned back to the harness.<br/><br/>“I can take you!” the boy blurted, seeming to surprise himself as much as he surprised her.</p>
<p>“What?”<br/><br/>“My car... I can take you where you're going. I can... He can lie down in the back seat, you can rest.” The boy smiled, earnestly.</p>
<p>
  <span>Brienne calculated the risks. The gas station attendant had told her an hour. Flying would probably shave some time off of that, except she didn't exactly know where they were going and even if she flew in exactly the right direction, she'd still have to stop again to find out how to get to Tysha's house. A car removed the possibility of going off course and drastically lessened their chances of getting caught. She looked at Jaime. He'd probably fare a lot better stretched out on a back seat than bound in a harness. The boy seemed safe. Her mind screamed at her that it was the worst thing she could do, the boy was a front for more bounty hunters or a do-good citizen who'd seen them on the news and would have them halfway to the police station before she realized it was happening, but in the end, she had to trust him. </span>
</p>
<p>She nodded, slowly, still hesitant, but willing to take whatever crumbs of luck she could. “Okay.”<br/><br/>“Okay!” The boy was overjoyed, jumping a little as he clapped his hands together. “Okay, awesome... You stay here, I'll pull my car around.” He did a little skip and Brienne smiled, despite herself. <br/><br/>The red hatchback, while cramped, was perfect, as they'd been able to fold down the back seat and tuck Jaime into much more comfortable accommodations. The front seat was still a squeeze for Brienne, but her arms sang in relief just the same.</p>
<p>Then the boy pulled out a phone. Her stomach lurched. She'd made a mistake. She'd surrendered them, right back to the enemy, and she'd done it with a smile on her face. But instead, he asked if she needed to call anyone. She looked at him dumbly and shook her head. There was no one to call. He shrugged and asked where they were going, plugging Tysha's address into the app as she read it from the napkin.</p>
<p>“By the way,” he said, still smiling like this was the best day of his life, “My name's Podrick. Or Pod. Friends call me Pod.”</p>
<p>Podrick, it turned out, was a delight, chatting easily with Brienne. He listened intently as she told the story, filling in bits and pieces he'd gleaned from the news. There wasn't much, only that Tywin Lannister had been murdered and all the evidence pointed to another Councilor as the culprit. He told her about his school, his studies, showering her with detailed information about various creatures, and the miles passed quickly. Brienne was so grateful he'd found her.</p>
<p>Then they got off the highway. The city looked like it had been struck by disaster and Brienne supposed that was exactly what had happened. She'd heard of the riots when Aerys was...when a genocidal manic was handled appropriately. Hearing of something from an island hundreds of miles away was different from driving into it in person. Fires burned, streets were littered with glass, the culmination of a people who hated their government. Twice, Pod had to backtrack and find ways around barricades. <br/><br/>Jaime's fever had roared back to life and the last of the ibuprofen Brienne had coaxed down his throat wasn't doing much to help. This was still better than flying—Brienne was certain there wouldn't have been a safe place to get directions, forcing her to find Tysha's home by chance—but she needed it to happen faster.</p>
<p>At a red light, someone pounded on the car window, face screaming something she couldn't hear through the glass. A rock bounced off the hood and she made a note to make sure Pod had her information for the damages. Bodies darted across the streets with no regard for oncoming traffic. Sirens screamed from all directions. Brienne glanced at the phone, mounted to the heat vent. They'd be there in less than ten minutes.</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief she felt when Pod pulled up in front of Tysha's was palpable, oozing from her pores, exhaled on her breath. They made it. Jaime was still alive. </span>
</p>
<p>Pod threw the car into park, sticking halfway into the street, and Brienne tore out of it, yanking up the hatch. She gathered Jaime in her arms and bound up Tysha's stoop, tearing the door open without knocking. Voices drifted from the kitchen, but all she could hear was Jaime's labored breathing. His skin had taken an unsettling yellow cast and she hoped that didn't mean she was too late.</p>
<p>“Help!” she called, hauling him to the closest couch, door still hanging open. “We need help!”<br/><br/>“Oh thank the gods you're—” Tysha stopped in the doorway, mouth agape. Brienne wasn't sure if it was Jaime or herself Tysha found more jarring, but the other woman quickly shook herself out of her stupor, rushing to Jaime's side. Behind where she'd stood, Tyrion gawked. First at her, then at Jaime, then back at her, like his eyes just didn't know where to settle.</p>
<p>“What...happened?” It didn't even begin to address all the questions Brienne read in his eyes.</p>
<p>She opened her mouth, ready to launch into another frenzied telling of their tale, when Tysha interrupted. “We need to get him to the bathroom.” She nodded at Jaime. “Nothing I do is going to help if the wound isn't clean.”</p>
<p>Brienne nodded, lifting Jaime without thinking, like it was familiar, second nature to her. Pod moved to help.</p>
<p>“Who are you?” a still dumbstruck Tyrion asked.</p>
<p>“Podrick,” Pod answered, with a quick bow of his head and a wry smile.</p>
<p>“There's a lot to talk about,” Tysha cut in before Tyrion could as him to elaborate. “After.” She nodded toward Jaime, and Brienne appreciated that someone here understood the most pressing matter. “Sit down and let me work!”</p>
<p>Tyrion dropped to a sofa, his hand pressed against his face. “Okay,” he said, fingers working over the bridge of his nose. “Podrick,” he assessed the young man again. “There's a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Can you...?”</p>
<p>Pod darted for the kitchen, as Brienne followed Tysha to the bathroom, overcome with an absurd urge to laugh. It wasn't the worst release of all the emotion she'd been holding, even if Tysha glanced at her oddly for a moment. The laughter bubbled out anyway. Jaime was going to live. For the first time since the warehouse, she was convinced of it.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A scream tore from Jaime, the second the hot water touched his massacred wrist. Was that him? A cool hand landed on his forehead, smoothing away his sweat soaked hair. <br/><br/>“I'm sorry,” Brienne—that was Brienne—soothed. He peeled his eyes open. She was leaning over him, smiling, saying words he didn't understand. Tysha's. Infection. Clean the wound. Lightening shot up his arm, spreading through his entire body as more water flooded over his wrist.</p>
<p>He jerked his head, trying to see what was happening, but Brienne held him still.</p>
<p>“<span>Harpy,” he rasped. “I'm dying.”<br/><br/>“You're not dying,” she argued. She was wrong. No one in this much pain lived. She sat there anyway, continuing to stroke his hair. “You're at Tysha's. She's gonna...she's gonna patch you up,” she reassured and he wanted to believe her. He had no idea how they'd gotten to Tysha's. Vaguely, he remembered lying on the ground outside, then later, lying in something else, another van maybe, but by that point, nothing had mattered except the burning in his body and the agony that had replaced his hand. </span></p>
<p>Nothing else mattered now. He screamed again. Blinding light flashed across his vision. His body jerked, taut, trying to escape the unbelievable pain. He just wanted to... He just...</p>
<p>“Hey, hey!” Brienne was calling him back. “I know it hurts,” she cupped his cheek. “But you're gonna get through this. Look at me. Watch my eyes.”<br/><br/>Jaime did. He watched them through countless screams, the worst torture he had ever imagined, even as he drifted in and out. Every time he was torn back to excruciating consciousness, they were there, deep and watery and impossibly blue.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Why didn't you take the door?” Tyrion asked, baffled as she finished her story. He turned to Tysha, “Why didn't she take the door?”<br/><br/>“The door?” Brienne asked. Tysha cringed.</p>
<p>“There's a door that leads right to my house! Right to my room!” He looked between the two women, like he couldn't figure out how they'd missed the most obvious thing in the world.</p>
<p>“I didn't know about the doors!”</p>
<p>“I didn't know her meds were at your house!”</p>
<p>Pod leaned in, trying to make sense of what was clearly the strangest night of his life.<br/><br/>Tyrion squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand down his face, visibly scraping away the frustration. “Doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Now we need to think about what happens next.”<br/><br/>“Wait,” Brienne said, slow realization dawning. “There's a door...that leads to your house?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” Tyrion replied. “It's how we've maintained our relationship without anyone knowing for as long as we have. It also means your little adventure with my brother was entirely unnecessary.” Brienne blanched, but Tyrion quickly assured her he wasn't mad.</p>
<p>“But if there's a door to your house...” How her body had gone from the biggest of her problems to the smallest in the six days they'd been missing was beyond her, but suddenly, it struck her that she could return to her own form. She never thought she'd be grateful for that! “My medication! Can I go get my medication?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Brienne, we can get your medication.” Tyrion bit back a smile at the relief that flooded her. “But, we have more to discuss first,” he continued. “After that, you will rest, and <em>I</em> will go get your pills.” He stood, pacing the room. Tysha had finished cleaning up and taken the seat next to Brienne, while Pod remained across from them, now as drawn into this world as Brienne was. She listened, rapt, as Tyrion spoke again.</p>
<p>“<span>It was the Targaryens who murdered my father. My brother was supposed to be the next target, then any Councilors who opposed her. That was the work of an assassin, but she has an army she's fully prepared to bring across the sea if her demands aren't met.”<br/><br/>Brienne bit her lip nervously. “What are her demands?” She already knew one of them.</span></p>
<p>“Same as before. Her father's seat.” He studied her. “And for us to surrender Jaime.” <br/><br/>“The people who were going to buy him? They were...”<br/><br/>Tyrion shrugged. “Probably. That's the most likely answer, although we do have plenty of other enemies.”</p>
<p>Brienne nodded, but her insides twisted into knots. She shouldn't care. She shouldn't let it get to her. She'd gotten him to safety and soon, he'd return to his own life and send her back to hers. She could barely remember a time when she'd dreaded her marriage to him and now all she could think of was that it was already over. Who was going to keep him safe when she was gone?</p>
<p>“You have to keep him safe!”<br/><br/>Tyrion's eyebrows lifted halfway up his forehead. “You've really grown to...care for him?”<br/><br/>Instinct told her to deny it, but there was no point. She was sure it was scrawled in red, plain as day on her face. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I do.” She stared at her hands, afraid looking up would give away how much.</p>
<p>Tyrion watched her sympathetically. “He's safe here,” he assured, “And so are you.”</p>
<p>She allowed herself to believe him, appreciative of Tysha's comforting hand on her knee.<br/><br/>“There is one other thing,” Tyrion winced, seeming to struggle with the right words. Brienne held her breath, waiting, anxious. “My sister is here.”<br/><br/>Oh. “Oh.” After everything she and Jaime had been through in the last week, Cersei Lannister should be nothing. Brienne shouldn't care if she was there. Jaime hadn't mentioned his sister since she said she didn't want to hear about it, and it shouldn't matter anyway, since by next year, Brienne would be little more than a bad dream. In her chest, her heart crumpled a little.</p>
<p>“She's just here for safety,” Tyrion amended quickly, and again, Brienne wished her feelings weren't so transparent. She hated feeling so exposed.<br/><br/>“He'll know it was you,” Tysha leaned in, comforting.<br/><br/>“It's...” Brienne was desperate for a change of subject. “It's not...We just went through a really awful ordeal together. That's all. Nothing more.” Something else nagged at the back of her brain, something she was missing. She shooed it away, another problem to deal with later.</p>
<p>Tyrion looked doubtful, but let it go. “I guess you're really wanting those pills then.”</p>
<p>Brienne nodded. “That would be fantastic!” She hadn't elaborated on the harpy thing, at least not much beyond where it pertained to what she and Jaime had gone through and she was glad no one had made a big deal out of it. Other than Pod, who thought it was phenomenal. She couldn't wait to be herself again.</p>
<p>Tysha was a perfect host, making tea and welcoming Pod to stay as well. It was too dangerous to risk leaving at night, even if he did have the advantage of a car. Brienne sat by Jaime's bedside until Tyrion returned with her pills and an armful of his brothers clothes.<br/><br/>“I brought some stuff for you too,” he said, dropping the pile unceremoniously on the bed. “Didn't want to rifle through your things any more than I had to and figured you're about the same size.” He meant well, but it made her extra aware of her big, gawky body that would remain that way, even after she'd changed back.</p>
<p>She swallowed her capsule in private, not really remembering what would happen when they took effect. Besides, it gave her a chance to process her feelings for Jaime, the ones she hadn't had time to think about until now. The whole way home, she'd tried to convince herself it was all just about his safety. She had to care for him because she was the only person who could. Now there were others though, his family, far better suited for being with him while he recovered. Still, her concern, her desire to be near him, clung to her skin.</p>
<p>Splashing water over her face, she tried to wash it away. Of course she was still worried. He was still in danger. Anyway, he was the only other person who could really understand what they'd just gone through. It was natural, normal, for her to feel some bond with him. These weren't real feelings. This wasn't love, it was the expected reaction of someone who had just gone through an extreme trauma. Brienne squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing a lump in her throat the fell straight down to her heart and sat like a stone. Or maybe love was a brand of trauma all it's own. A feather fell from her face.</p>
<p>Oh gods, how had that happened? She'd planned to marry him, hoping for the best, but even the best never involved falling in love with him. And now there wasn't even any reason for them to marry. Once she went home, she'd probably never even see him again. He might not even want to see her now. She might be too threaded into what had to be the worst time of his life. His sister was here. He didn't need Brienne.</p>
<p>Her skin itched and prickled, feathers dropping off much the same way they'd sprouted, only this time she was present and aware while it happened. Watching the transformation only shook her further, shot to her slowly breaking heart. Jaime said it himself. She was a big, ugly, harpy. Even as a human, she was a harpy. What could he ever want with her?</p>
<p>Once the feathers were gone, stuffed into a trash bag with the last tatters of her t-shirt, she stepped into the shower, washing away the grime their adventure left on her skin. The hot water washed over her, stinging her scrapes, reminding her who she was, what had happened. The feeling she'd forgotten something roared back to life, but she couldn't place what it was. It felt like waking from a dream, that last bit that floating just out of her memory's reach. That was probably all it was. She was waking from a bad dream. She wished parts of it were real. She wished none of it had ever happened.</p>
<p>After she's applied the salve Tysha had given her to her wounds, she dressed in Jaime's clothes, then took a quick peek at him, fever broken, sleeping peacefully behind the third door on the right. The sliver of light from the door illuminated his perfect face and it was hard to make herself leave. Staying would have raised all kinds of interesting questions though. She rejoined the others, letting them draw her out of her own head distracting her from feelings she didn't want to face and forgotten things that wouldn't come back to her.</p>
<p>It wasn't until long after the lights of the home died, when Brienne, tucked into a warm bed, behind a door next to Jaime's in Tysha's special hallway, remembered.</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her fatigue, sleep couldn't find her. Her body, human body felt strange, tossing beneath the sheets. The fabric felt strange against her skin, where she'd grown used to having feathers. It was too quiet. She was too alone, used to the sound of Jaime's breathing, still afraid that breathing would stop at any moment. The forgotten thing chipped away at her exhausted, sleepless brain. Fighting the urge to go check on Jaime again, she rolled over, right into it.<br/><br/>“My father!”</span>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It was sunlight that woke him, pouring through a window that shouldn't have been possible, but Jaime had given up on figuring out how Tysha's house worked. His wrist throbbed, his body felt like it weighed a ton, but he was here, and he was more alive than he'd been in...maybe ever. He wanted to drink it in, drown in it, the way he'd drown in the blue of Brienne's eyes amid the worst torture he'd ever endured, to be reborn as...as whatever he was right now. If she was a harpy, maybe he was phoenix and he couldn't wait to embrace all the things he'd allowed himself to miss out on for so long. Things he hadn't even known existed.</p>
<p>But before he could do any of that, he had to get out of bed. Something heavy pressed against the small of his back, some thing he'd initially assumed was the weight of his own abused body, but when he twisted, it moved, shifting slightly, then startling upright with a gasp. He turned, peering through bleary eyes in time to see Brienne straighten in the chair she'd pulled to his bedside, blushing furiously.</p>
<p>“I'm—I wasn't... I didn't mean to...” She stammered, covering her face like it would stop him from seeing her.<br/><br/>Jaime broke into a grin. “You're still here.”<br/><br/>She peeked between two cautious fingers. “Of course I'm still here. Where else would I be?”<br/><br/>Without any thought of what he was doing, he pulled her into a weird, lopsided hug, barely aware of the thrum of pain that shot through his arm as he did. She stiffened against him, then melted into it. “I dunno, half way back to your island? Out of this hell hole for sure.” The hug broke something in him, and he clutched on to her, held her for too long, fearing if he let go she'd evaporate and he'd be alone again. He didn't want to be alone.</p>
<p>“I'm glad you're here,” he said, when she finally tugged free. He was, too, and not just that she was still there in the city, but that she was at his side, waiting for him. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to wake up to more.</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes were a little watery, rimmed in red, probably from being yanked from sleep that couldn't have been comfortable, but she was smiling, a surprised smile at a reaction she obviously hadn't expected. He wondered what she </span>
  <em>had</em>
  <span> expected. For him send her away? Want her gone?<br/><br/>“Me too.” It was barely a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>He looked her up and down, marveling at seeing her in her own skin again. “I guess I can't call you harpy anymore.”<br/><br/>He liked the way her chin wobbled the tiniest bit as she laughed.</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaime learned he'd been asleep for over a day. His family was there, and his brother had visited him several times, in between trying to find more information on his father's assassination and what the other Councilors planned to do about the threat of war. The North had issued a formal statement of secession and the others seemed split on which family the supported. Brienne's father hadn't been seen since the engagement party.</span>
</p>
<p>“That doesn't mean he's been captured,” Jaime tried to reassure her. “No news is good news, right? Maybe he's out looking for you. Maybe he went back to Tarth.”<br/><br/>“I just—I shouldn't be sitting here, doing nothing. If he is looking for me, he's never gonna find me here. And if he has been captured...” she trailed off, kicking the bed frame with a restless foot. She looked up at like she needed something. Jaime didn't know what. “Now that you're awake, I should...” The statement warmed and chilled him at once. She'd waited for him. She meant to disappear again. He picked up her hand, a physical tether to stop her.</p>
<p>“We'll find him,” he swore to her, never more serious in his life. He hated that he'd dragged her into this. It may not have been his choice, but if he could do it over again, he wouldn't tell her she looked like a man—he'd tell her to run. He'd tell her this was a sick, sad place and to escape while she could. She didn't need to be caged here. Didn't deserve it. He didn't get a do over. Instead, he had to make it right. “I promise we will find him.”<br/><br/>She nodded skeptically and he squeezed her hand tighter, wishing he could do more.</p>
<p>His stomach growled, rudely interrupting the moment.<br/><br/>“Oh!” She jumped up, snatching her hand back. “You must be starving!” He was. He'd had nothing but old canned cheese and some stale chips in...what? A week? Even remembering <em>that</em> made him salivate. “Stay here,” Brienne ordered. “I'll go get food and send Tysha up to check your hand.”<br/><br/>He hated how he felt when the door shut behind her.</p>
<p>Tysha arrived before Brienne returned, all business as she handed him a glass of something that looked like pond water. “Drink up!”<br/><br/>Jaime grimaced.<br/><br/>“Look, I'm not gonna lie and tell you it tastes better than it looks, but it cuts the fever faster than anything and helps with the infection.”<br/><br/>Jaime forced the liquid down his throat, chasing it with the glass of water she handed him next. “I better live,” he muttered. “Otherwise I drank that for nothing.”<br/><br/>Tysha laughed. “You'd better live anyway.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his left arm. “You got lucky,” she said and for a moment, Jaime thought she was talking about his injuries. The pointed look she gave him told him she wasn't.<br/><br/>“I know that,” he spat, unsure why he was suddenly defensive.</p>
<p>“<span>I hope so,” Tysha smiled. “You know, she has her own room, but somehow she keeps finding her way back to this one?” The thought made him go fuzzy inside and he knew he was grinning like an idiot, not something he particularly wanted Tysha to see, but he couldn't stop. “She really...cares about you. She's good.”<br/><br/>“She's amazing,” he breathed, then flushed at the realization he'd said it out loud. “Don't—uh... I don't want her to feel trapped.”<br/><br/>Whatever helpful thing Tysha was about to say was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Brienne carrying a tray of food. </span></p>
<p>“Sorry! I wanted to...you haven't eaten in so long and I...tried to make something nice.” The plate was messy, piled with eggs and bacon and toast. It smelled like a gift from the gods. “This was the quickest I could do...” Brienne looked like she wanted to drop the tray and run. <br/><br/>“It's perfect. Thank you,” Jaime said, idiotic grin wider than ever. Tysha glanced between them, smiling as she began to hum.</p>
<p>Brienne sat on the edge of the bed, biting her nails as Tysha unwrapped Jaime's wrist. “How does it look?” she demanded, and he wanted to laugh. She sounded more invested in his recovery than he was.<br/><br/>“Hmm,” Tysha gingerly prodded the sold where she'd stitched him together. “I don't like that,” she pointed at a particularly angry spot. “We'll have to watch it carefully. The herbs I have will help, but...” she winced, clearly not wanting to elaborate. “I'm afraid if it spreads, you'll lose the arm.”</p>
<p>His arm? His hand was bad enough, but his whole arm? “I can't lose the arm!”<br/><br/>“He can't lose the arm,” Brienne repeated firmly and he looked at her, unable to to believe she was real.</p>
<p>Tysha peered at his wrist again, sympathetic. “This is outside my scope. We can cross our fingers and hope, but if you want to be certain, you need a hospital.”<br/><br/>“I can't go to the hospital! At least one person is trying to kill me.” He couldn't go to the hospital. He couldn't lose his arm. “Isn't there someone you know, someone you could bring here?”<br/><br/>Squeezing her eyes shut, Tysha racked her brain for ideas. “There's a flower, blue duscal. It's a known regenerative, but it's not from here. I don't know where to find it. I've seen it once and it worked, but after...” She motioned to him. So his arm came down to Tysha and some rare flower.<br/><br/>“It grows on my island,” Brienne piped up in the background.</p>
<p>“What?” Tysha demanded, shocked.</p>
<p>“<span>It grows on my island,” Brienne repeated, springing to life. “That flower, there's a field... I... How long do we have? If I can get home, I can get it for you.”<br/><br/>“Holy hells!” Tysha clapped her hands together. “We have all the time we need. I'll start a door!”<br/><br/>Relief washed over Jaime. He'd keep his arm, Brienne had saved his arm! Of course she had. She was Brienne. Brienne the harpy, from an island with magical flowers, and all she had to do was go pick some—<br/><br/>“Wait,” everything crumbled around him. “Are you sure...you know what happened last time you went out for medicine!”<br/><br/>She looked puzzled a moment, then she started to laugh. “It's my island, Jaime. It's a secluded meadow on </span><em>my</em><span> island, not a dingy drugstore in the city. I'll be back before you know I'm gone.”<br/><br/>He was about to argue when the door swung open again. Cersei loomed in the frame, war written across her face. He knew she was here, but he hadn't seen her since the engagement party. She looked radiant. Jaime wanted to tell her to leave.</span></p>
<p>Tysha scrunched her nose at the toxic fog invading the room. “I'll, uh,” she wagged her finger toward the exit. “I'll go start a door.” She squeezed past Cersei on the way out.<br/><br/>Brienne sat stone still, looking down at her hands as she knotted them together.<br/><br/>“You're awake!” Cersei breezed into the room, ignoring Brienne entirely, as she took the chair Tysha had occupied. Jaime couldn't miss the way she recoiled at his exposed stump.<br/><br/>“I'm awake,” he agreed, though he was suddenly exhausted enough to sleep another day.</p>
<p>“You didn't ask for me?” It was half question, half accusation, as she eyed Brienne like she shouldn't be there. “You mustn't have known I was here.”</p>
<p>Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose, while Cersei turned her scorn to Brienne.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Brianne—”</p>
<p>“Brienne,” Jaime cut in automatically, first annoyed by his sister's intentional error, then almost amused that he was the one correcting her name. Or, he would have been if he didn't hate everything about this situation.</p>
<p>“Brienne,” Cersei corrected, caustically sweet. “But I'm here now. You can go.”<br/><br/>Humiliated, Brienne started to stand. Anger ignited in Jaime. Where was the harpy? Where was the woman who'd torn their captors apart, who had flown him to safety while half starved and nursing injuries of her own? Compared to that bear, what was a rabid kitten? She couldn't have dragged them from the deepest hell only to be frightened away by his sister. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down.<br/><br/>“Brienne,” he emphasized, “Is the reason I made it back alive. She's been keeping watch over me the whole time I've been back. She can stay.” She looked up at him, surprised and somewhat doubting. She thought he'd send her away, he realized, a small spark of hurt spreading through his chest. Wordlessly, he willed her to stay, watched her agree with a hint of smile. Cersei looked between them, narrowing her eyes as she put the pieces together, then burst out laughing. The sound filled the room, forcing Brienne's eyes back to her hands.</p>
<p>“You love him!” she gasped at Brienne through her laughter. “You love him and you think...what, you think he loves you back?” Brienne's skin lit to flame, only Jaime didn't find any joy in it. It wasn't the teasing blush he loved drawing out—she was mortified. He couldn't let his sister do this, not to her.</p>
<p>“<span>Cersei. Stop it.” he commanded, knowing it was futile, that she'd continue anyway until each peal of laughter had torn away the last good thing in his life.</span></p>
<p>“No, no,” she gasped for breath. “This is fantastic.” Her outburst slowed, ending on a long, amused sigh. She wiped her eyes with the side of her hand, then turned her icy gaze back to Brienne. “Did you know he was going to kill you?”<br/><br/>Brienne jerked her head up like she'd been slapped, like she didn't want to believe it, but couldn't stop herself from entertaining the possibility.<br/><br/>“I was not!” Jaime raged, then softer, to Brienne, “I wasn't. She...she asked me to, but I swear I wasn't. I wasn't going to do it.”</p>
<p>Cersei let out another cackle. “He didn't tell you that, did he? The poison?” Her laugh was pure malice, venom dripping from her perfect teeth.</p>
<p>
  <span>Brienne's mouth moved, wordless, her eyes brimming with hurt and disbelief. Jaime held fast to her wrist, willing her to listen to him, not to leave. Her voice finally found her. “Were you...?”<br/><br/>“No!” he insisted. “Brienne... Okay, look, she did try to give me poison, gave me poison. I sent her home. I locked the door behind her and flushed it down the toilet. I was never going to hurt you, I swear.” Cersei smirked, pleased with the damage she'd inflicted, damage Jaime feared couldn't be undone. “Brienne,” he plead, “You know me... Maybe not for long, but you know things about me. I </span>
  <em>never</em>
  <span> would have poisoned you. You have to believe me.” No one ever believed him. </span>
</p>
<p>But Brienne did, doubt clearing from her eyes, as she nodded slowly. He could almost see her reflection in hundreds of mirrors. She'd believed him then too.</p>
<p>He turned on Cersei. “Get out.”</p>
<p>Cersei balked. “Me? You're telling me to leave?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” he said evenly. “You can stay in this house. You're my sister and I...don't want you dead, but I don't want to do this with you anymore. Just go.”<br/><br/>Her facade began to crack. “You don't know what you're talking about. We're the...we're... You're not even a whole person without me!”<br/><br/>He felt Brienne squeeze his hand and looked down to find them clasped, unsure when that had happened, but more clear and aware of everything else than he had ever been in his life. “I <em>am</em> a whole person and I want you to leave.”<br/><br/>“You want me to leave?” she hissed, a storm kicking up in her eyes. “Fine,” she she laughed airily, standing, as Jaime steeled himself against whatever grand exit she had prepared. “You're not a whole person,” she threw a glance at his maimed wrist. “You'll never be a whole person again.” She crossed the room. “And you have your great cow there to thank for it.” The door slammed behind her.</p>
<p>The toxicity followed her, but some other current buzzed to life, heavy, charged with the things they hadn't said to one another, just as thickly as with what they had. She pulled her hand back, and he could see the fear in her.</p>
<p>“I wasn't going to kill you,” he said again, but he got the sense that wasn't what she was afraid of. She was afraid of the the unspoken truths in the room, clinging to the walls like balloons hung with static. Cersei had accused her of loving him. Did she?</p>
<p>His eyes darted over her face. She looked lost, contemplative, chewing her lip. He wanted to kiss her. He should kiss her. She'd probably kiss him back. He shouldn't kiss her, he'd scare her away. He reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She jumped when he brushed it, and imaginary jolt of electricity, transferred from his fingers. He leaned forward. Her lip puffed from between her teeth. He was definitely going to—</p>
<p>“I know,” she laughed, more nerves than humor, shaking him from his thoughts. “Poison,” she shuddered. The electricity between them fizzled, leaving only an anxious residue she seemed eager to escape. He wondered if it had all been in his imagination. “Never would've used poison.” She gave him a sincere smile, pulling herself from the bed. “I better go see if... The door. Tysha might have it ready.” She glanced over her shoulder once, then slipped from the room.</p>
<p>He should have kissed her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Apparently once wasn't enough, so Jaime and Brienne make a second drug run.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A wall between Jaime and herself, Brienne caught her breath. Her heart thumped erratically and she wondered if it would ever beat to a normal rhythm again. She'd been certain, absolutely certain that he'd been about to kiss her and she'd opened her mouth and screwed it all up. That was stupid. Of course he hadn't planned to kiss her and even if he had, it wasn't about her, not really. He was high on adrenaline, on emotion, she just happened to be there. She clamped the lid down tight before any other nonsense could infect her brain. Letting her imagination run wild now would only hurt more when she had to face reality.</p><p>Down the hall, on the left, stood a new door. It looked exactly like all the others, except it hadn't been there when she'd entered. Her door. </p><p>“Tysha?” she called, walking away from the door, toward the sound of laughter coming from behind the curtain. She peeled it back, revealing Tysha pulling a tray of cookies from an oven, while Podrick laughed at something Tyrion said. It was like the most bizarre family photo ever and made her itch even more to go through the new door, back to her island, where she could breathe a little. “Tysha?”</p><p>Tysha looked up from her baking.</p><p>“The new door... Is that?”</p><p>“Oh! Yeah, it's all set. Just go through and get what we need.” Tysha shoveled cookies up with a comically oversize spatula, dropping them onto a plate. “I was gonna tell you, but... Didn't know if I'd be interrupting anything.” She winked. </p><p>Brienne blushed to the roots of her hair. “You wouldn't have,” she mumbled, ducking behind the curtain before any of them could argue.</p><p>At the end of the hall, Jaime leaned casually against the wall next to the door. He shouldn't have been out of bed. </p><p>“What are you doing?” she asked him, making her way down the hall.</p><p>“I thought we were going to get that flower or whatever. Isn't that what the door is for?” Of course he'd try to go. He'd probably put up a fuss about it too. </p><p>“I'm going,” she argued. “You need to stay here and rest. I thought we established that.” Still, her heart sputtered in her chest. He wanted to go. He wanted to be with her. The sputter turned into an uncomfortable tattoo. She was afraid he'd hear it, echoing in the empty corridor.</p><p>“You're not going alone,” he crossed a defiant arm over the door, seriousness scrawled across his face.</p><p>Brienne didn't have time to argue, but no way was she taking Jaime on another adventure when he hadn't healed from the last one. Hells, he needed to heal <em>because</em><span> of the last one. “Fine,” she agreed. “But you need to rest. I'll get Tysha. Or Pod! Pod would love this.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nope,” Jaime said, with a pop at the end. “I already told you once, Harpy. You go, I go.”<br/>
<br/>
Brienne rolled her eyes, but gave in, twisting the knob. “You'd better not die.”<br/>
<br/>
“I'll try not to,” he promised. </span></p><p>
  <span>They stepped through, and on the other side, it wasn't Tysha's house they'd exited, but a small gardener's shack, sitting in a vast, fragrant meadow. Flowers bloomed pops of color against the green grass, swaying softly in the breeze. It was so very different from the manicured gardens where they'd taken their photos a whole lifetime ago, wild and free and chaotic, and somehow more beautiful for it. He looked at Brienne. It was home.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Wow,” Jaime exhaled, his eyes widening at the paradise before them. </span></p><p>“<span>Yeah,” Brienne agreed. “It's nice here. See why I miss it?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaime didn't answer, just stood there with his mouth slightly agape. He drank in the scenery, then he drank in her. Her hair was still limp, but fresh and clean and he wanted to know how it would feel tangled in his hands. He wanted to chart her freckles and count her scars and see how far that blush really went. He wanted her.</span></p><p>“<span>I made a mistake back there.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wha—” </span></p><p>
  <span>Jaime gave her no warning, just reached out, tugged her close, and kissed her. It was nothing, barely a brush of his lips against hers. It was everything and he wanted to do it again. Brienne hadn't reacted. He pulled back slightly, to find her wide, shocked eyes boring into him. She reached a shaky hand up, brushing her fingertips over her lips.</span>
</p><p>“<span>What was that?” The uncertainty in her voice terrified him. Had he misread the situation?<br/>
<br/>
“I was kissing you,” he ground out. It was stupid, he was stupid. She hadn't wanted him to kiss her—if she had, he wouldn't need to explain it. </span></p><p>
  <span>She only stared harder, through more confusion. “Why?”<br/>
<br/>
Why? Because she had cared for him at great risk to herself. Because she listened when he talked and didn't treat him like an idiot she needed to talk down to. Because even before any of this happened, she saw the good in him, enough to give him a chance. Because she believed him. Because she was the best person he'd ever met. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Because I wanted to. I've wanted to since...” How long had he wanted to? It was before today, but Jaime couldn't put a time stamp on it. He watched her eyes turn skeptical. He<em> had</em> misread the situation. “I don't know. It was dumb. Forget it.” He slumped to the ground leaning against the shed. Of course it wasn't like that. He banged his head lightly against the wooden wall, penance for his mistake. She'd just been taking care of him. Just doing the right thing.<br/>
<br/>
She surprised him, dropping to the ground beside him. She leaned in, eyes narrowed and questioning. “You're not making fun of me?”<br/>
<br/>
A flash of anger tore through him. </span><em>She </em><span>had rejected </span><em>him</em><span>. After everything, all that had happened, she still thought... And it didn't matter how he treated her when they met, she should have learned better by now, she should know he didn't do things he didn't mean. “No, Brienne, I'm not making fun of you,” he said, bitter that it wasn't obvious. “Do you really still see me that way?”<br/>
<br/>
Now it was her turn to wince. “No!” she asserted. “No. It's...” She sighed, wringing her hands together, like he'd learned she always did when she was awaiting some cruel judgment. The action chipped at his heart. Blowing out a breath, she squeezed her eyes shut, like he couldn't see her if she couldn't see him. “I'm me and you're you and you're not the person I expected you to be at all and that's almost worse because now I have no reason to hate you. It scares me.” The last part was just a shade above a whisper.<br/>
<br/>
Jaime softened. He really hadn't been very nice when they'd met. “Did you hate me before?”<br/>
<br/>
Brienne traced circles over her knees, still not looking at him as she considered the question. “I didn't even know you before. I was thrown into all of this, same as you.” She chewed her lip, ran her hands over her arms. Finally met his eyes. “I liked you at the museum.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaime let out one sharp bark of laughter. It wasn't quite joyful, but the irritation had drained out of him. He stared at the ground. “Wish we could start over at the beginning. Lead with that.” Even as he said it, he knew it was nonsense. It never would have happened that way.<br/>
<br/>
Brienne studied him, curious, and he wondered what she was looking for. “There is one thing we could start over.” She peered up shyly, toeing the dirt in front of her with the tip of her shoe.<br/>
<br/>
His heart jumped. “What's that?”<br/>
<br/>
Terrified, she raised a trembling hand to his cheek, lifting his face, turning it towards her. “Slowly,” she breathed, before leaning in.</span></p><p>
  <span>This time was better. She was ready, and their lips quickly fell into a gentle rhythm. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. Her hand slid from his cheek, up into his hair, threading it through her fingers as their mouths danced, painfully slow. He held back, fighting to stay at the pace she set, rewarded with her increasing eagerness. The position was awkward and a twinge started in his neck, but he ignored it, desperate for more and afraid that if he moved he would scare her. His tongue darted out, barely licking against the seam of her mouth and to his surprise, she granted entrance, deepening the kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so new, so different from every other kiss he'd experienced. With Cersei, everything happened in a frenzied rush, careening toward and end goal. Perhaps it was just the newness, but with Brienne, it was slow, sweet, a meandering path that didn't need to lead anywhere else. She let him kiss her just for the sake of kissing her and he reveled in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released him with an experimental bite to his lower lip, then leaned against the shack with a shaky sigh. He took in her flushed face and incredulous eyes, staring off into the meadow instead of meeting his. She was dangerous, like drinking something sweet and feeling completely unaffected until he tried to stand and his legs wobbled out from under him. He wanted to be drunk on her.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Better?” he asked with a grin he knew belied his breathlessness, certain he didn't look anywhere near as cocky as he'd intended. </span></p><p>
  <span>She nodded, still not meeting his eye, licked her lips, then touched them again. He watched her puzzle through something before seemingly making a decision. Then she reached out, grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <span>Her shirt was open. She was lying on the ground, grass prickling the skin on her lower back where it had rucked up as things grew more heated, only now the material was open and Brienne had no idea how they'd gotten there. No, that wasn't true—Jaime's stubble scraping back up her neck, his mouth seeking its way back to hers told her exactly how they'd gotten </span>
  <em>there</em>
  <span>, but in the general sense, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted her, that much she knew, could see it in his eyes and feel it pressed up against her thigh. What she couldn't figure out was why. She was too big, too ugly. He didn't have to be here with her, shouldn't be with her, but he was. Her hands scrabbled up the bronze skin on his back, pulling him closer, afraid she'd find he wasn't there at all. He rewarded her with a hiss, then licked into her mouth, with a soft hum as he kissed her again. She met him with equal enthusiasm, tongues, now familiar dancing like it was all they'd been created to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn't taken long for her to learn how much she loved kissing Jaime. That first press of his lips had been so unexpected and instinct to protect herself kicked in. She'd been certain it had just been a joke, like every other man who'd tried to kiss her, but Jaime had been so hurt when she suggested it. Something he said to her a lifetime ago flooded back. </span>
  <em>There are no men like me</em>
  <span>. He was right, there weren't. Jaime's kisses were a revelation, everything about him was. When she'd dragged him back into the grass, she believed it, but now the threads of apprehension had worked their way in, and even with his mouth leaving hot trails up her neck, she couldn't quite come to terms with the revelation that he wanted <em>her</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharp teeth nipped at her ear, followed by his ragged voice, “In your head again, harpy...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. She was. He </span>
  <em>wanted</em>
  <span> her. </span>
  <em>Jaime</em>
  <span> wanted </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span>, had undone her shirt—his shirt, the one from the pile at Tysha's—and was worshiping her like some kind of goddess and she was holding back again, tied down by ropes of self doubt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit his collarbone, earning a sharp gasp, his arousal jerking against her leg. “Sorry,” she whispered back. “I'm just... I'm not...”<br/>
<br/>
He pushed himself up, and she took in his stormy eyes and tight jaw. “Is it too much?” His voice came in bursts and pants. “Do you want to stop?” </span>
  <em>Do you want me?</em>
</p><p>“<span>No!” </span><em>Yes!</em><span> Brienne couldn't think of anything she'd ever wanted more, aside from maybe the ability to step outside her own insecurities enough to enjoy it. “I'm... I've never... I mean I've fooled around, but...”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh,” Jaime pulled back further and she feared she'd ruined everything again. “We don't have to...”<br/>
<br/>
“I want to!” she asserted, surprising herself at how forceful it was. How much she really, really did want it. Want him. “I just... Do <em>you</em> really want to?”<br/>
<br/>
The grin that split his face wasn't mocking at all. It was predatory. He raked his eyes slowly down her body, and she felt her flush deepen, fighting the urge to cover her small chest. He worked his appraisal back up, lingering, memorizing, and when he met her eyes again, he licked his lips. “I want </span><em>you</em><span>.” </span></p><p>
  <span>That was it. Brienne could believe him or not, and in that moment, she decided she did. She nodded, lacing her arms back around his neck. Her tongue delved in to his mouth and she kissed him like it was all she wanted in the world.<br/>
<br/>
Twice, he tried to use his right hand, still not used to its absence. Both times he cursed, but it just made her more confident, aware that perhaps he had his own insecurities to face.<br/>
<br/>
He nibbled a path down her jaw, over her collarbone, and she shivered as he drew his tongue across her nipple, her back arching, wanting him to do it again. He smirked up at her, not breaking eye contact as he blew on it lightly before drawing it into his mouth. He licked and sucked, watching her, driving her half out of her mind with his seductive gaze alone. Leaning up, she shrugged the shirt from her shoulders, capturing his lips as she did. He slid the material from one arm, then the next, discarding it with his own. She bit his lip, his jaw, his collarbone, then fell to the ground, shamelessly pushing him back to her breasts. He smiled against her, and gave an experimental nip. She </span>
  <em>whimpered.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't stop there, leaving hot, wet kisses across her belly on his lazy path down. Hitting a ticklish spot made her laugh and he did it again, and then again, until she pulled his face from her, failing at any attempt to look serious. She wanted him, wanted to feel his skin on hers, wanted his hand and his mouth, wanted him inside her. She was panting, breathless, and the only thing she didn't want was for this to ever end. Shifting, he trailed his awkward left hand across the top of her jeans, dipped a finger just below the waistband and waited for her approval. She popped the button and began pushing them down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, her error struck her. She was wearing his clothes, which meant she didn't have any underwear. The further the pants crept down her legs, the more her doubts crept back in. Jaime would see her naked, and before he left, he'd laugh at her. Her skin flushed furiously, warmth spreading through her as she went a shade of red even she hadn't known was possible. She steeled herself for the inevitable. But when she looked up, he wasn't laughing at all. His eyes were dark, clouded with want, and he was looking at her like she was a feast and he didn't know where to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, she fought the urge to cover herself, but he didn't give her time to dwell on it, settling next to her, on his side, covering her with more kisses, as his lazy hand trailed the length of her body. He kissed her back to comfort, fingers barely teasing her curls, working at a pace that didn't make her want to run and she loved him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She loved him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His finger slid easily inside and she gasped. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Good?” he asked with a smile that said he knew damned well it was.<br/>
<br/>
This was the farthest she'd been before, just awkward college fumblings, with a boy who hadn't cared about her going through the motions. Anything else would be new. Jaime drew his finger out, curling it slightly as she did, and she realized it was already new. Everything about this was new. Being here with a man who wanted her to feel good, who wanted </span><em>her,</em><span> was new and she had no idea what she'd been so frightened of. She answered with a push of her hips, drawing him deeper again, wanting to feel more. His mouth moved back to her breast, and oh! She could feel him everywhere, almost overwhelmed, but wanting more. </span></p><p>
  <span>He added a second finger as his mouth made a slow path back down. Brienne clenched around them, her breath picking up, as the embers simmering in her belly burst to flame. The breeze stoked the fire, dancing across her skin, leaving goosebumps in the wake of all the places Jaime's hot mouth had been. He traced his tongue over the slight dip above her curls, bit her hip bone, and withdrew his fingers, settling between her thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hand needs a break.” He broke into a devilish grin, stubble barely grazing her sensitive flesh. “Good thing I have a mouth.” He pushed her legs apart.<br/>
<br/>
Oh! No one had ever... His tongue swiped across her clit and any protest she was about to make died. He flicked it again and she threw her head back, her body thrusting upward against her will. She could feel him smirk, then he was all tongue, licking and laving, as her whole body caught fire. Her hands twisted in his hair, nails raking over his scalp, as she met his tongue with shallow thrusts. He lapped greedily, drawing her in, humming approval as his name—Jaime—turned to a litany. The slow build spiraled faster and her breath came in gasps and pants and she coiled tighter, threatening to snap. This was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, even from her own hand. His rested fingers joined his tongue and it was enough to push her over the edge, her body shaking as the waves crashed over her. His tongue slowed coaxing her through aftershocks, and with one last lick, he smirked up at her, extremely self-satisfied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't done, wanted more. Gathering every bit of courage she had, she licked her lips and whispered, “Fuck me.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaime did not need to be told twice, shucking his pants and underwear at once and crouching back down between her open legs. He licked his hand and pumped his shaft twice, lining the head to the opening of her cunt.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you sure?”<br/>
<br/>
Sparks ran over her body. No matter what happened next, she'd never been more sure of anything. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned in, kissed her, and pushed inside. Air hissed between his teeth as he paused, giving them both a chance to get used to the sensation. There was none of the pain she'd heard about, just pressure, the feeling of being full. She liked it. She wanted more.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Move.” she commanded and he did, drawing out, then back in again. She gasped, tightening her grip as she clenched around him. “More,” she said again, aware it was closer to a pathetic whine than the order she'd intended. He moved in and out, setting a steady pace that she happily matched, loving the closeness, the feel of him inside her. He nipped at her neck, her lips, her breasts, any skin his mouth could reach, and she scraped her nails down his back, trying to draw him even nearer. </span></p><p>“<span>Not gonna last much longer,” Jaime ground out and she nodded, pulling him closer, just wanting to feel all of him. </span></p><p>
  <span>Brienne wondered idly, if this would be the only time, trying desperately to stave off the fear that she'd never have him inside her again. She clutched his shoulders, committing as much as she could to memory, not thinking about tomorrow, only his face, red and contorted with pleasure, the slick of his skin against hers, the way her name fell from his lips. Only Jaime. This was all that mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final cry, he pulled out and came in the grass beside her. Then he fell, panting, on her other side, wrapping her in a tangle of limbs. He wasn't cocky anymore, now he was...something like awestruck. He kissed her forehead, her temple, breathed in her hair. This was all that mattered.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>“<span>Do we really have to go back?” Jaime grumbled, swatting his stump at a bee that had insisted on following him back. </span></p><p>
  <span>Brienne looked up and laughed. “Yes! I keep telling you, yes.”<br/>
<br/>
He pouted. This was the most magical place he'd ever been, including Tysha's which was </span>
  <em>actually</em>
  <span> magical. He peeked at Brienne from the corner of his eye. Her hair was mussed, clothes rumpled, and she had a comfortable air around her like he'd never seen. She was happy, the kind of happy he wanted to bottle up and save forever.</span>
</p><p>“<span>But why?” he whined. The bee had returned, mimicking the sound in his ear.</span></p><p>“<span>Well, for one thing, it's </span><em>your </em><span>arm that's apparently going to rot off if we don't get back.” Despite making light of it, she glanced nervously at the appendage. It ached like crazy from lying on it for too long, but Jaime didn't regret any of it. If anything, he wanted more.</span></p><p>
  <span>They stayed next to the shack for a while, holding one another as heartbeats slowed to normal. He rambled, he couldn't even remember about what, and she seemed content to listen, tracing shapes over his chest with her fingertip. After they'd dressed, they'd gone to find the flowers. She was right, they were easy to find and he imagined they gathered enough to fill Tysha's stash for life. He distracted her with lazy kisses as often as he could and when she got too frustrated, they fucked again. Now the sinking sun called them back. He hated to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held the appendage out, inspecting it. “I don't know, do I really need it? You didn't seem to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smacked him without any force, blushing furiously again. He loved the color even more now that he knew exactly how far it spread. If they were going back to Tysha's, she could count on him sneaking into her room that night.</span>
</p><p>“<span>It's not just that,” she said, falling silent, scuffing her shoes as she walked. The shed came back into view and he grabbed her hand. He'd distracted her for an afternoon, but now her father returned, heavy on her mind. They still hadn't heard any word of him and Jaime knew time was ticking before she disappeared to find him. She wouldn't tell him, he knew that, she'd try to be big and dumb and brave and sneak off without him knowing. That was another reason to sneak in at night. He just hoped she'd be there when he did.</span></p><p>
  <span>They reached the door and he pulled it open. Through the opening, they saw a perfectly ordinary gardener's shack, but he knew once they stepped through, their paradise would vanish.<br/>
<br/>
“Kiss for luck?” he asked her, and she leaned in, pressing her mouth to his. He picked a blade of dead grass out of her hair, almost dropping it, but sticking it in his pocked instead. They walked through the door.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>“<span>Where were you guys?” Tyrion erupted the moment they hit the living room. Pod fidgeted on a couch, while Tysha lifted her head, watching Brienne with something that looked oddly sympathetic. Even Cersei appeared more docile than usual, sitting with them. Brienne knew they'd been gone a while, but hadn't expected anyone to worry. She guessed it made sense, given their arrival last time, but waiting like anxious parents seemed a bit much. Besides, this adventure had been decidedly better. She cursed the pink she felt creep across her cheeks, a dead giveaway of what they'd been up to, if they hadn't guessed already.</span></p><p>“<span>We were defiling plant life.” Jaime said, wearing smug flawlessly as ever. Brienne balked, digging a horrified elbow into his side.</span></p><p>“<span>Picking flowers,” she amended, glaring at him. “He means we were picking flowers.”<br/>
<br/>
“That's what I said, Harpy.” She hadn't realized he could look even more proud of himself. “What are you thinking about?” She was about to reprimand him again, but Tyrion cut them off.</span></p><p>“<span>Never mind all that,” Tyrion said. “Come here. You guys need to see this.” </span></p><p>
  <span>He flipped on the TV, tuned to the all day news channel. A picture of Selwyn filled the screen. </span>
</p><p>“<span>...Video footage of Selwyn Tarth, offering him in exchange for the fugitive, Jaime Lannister.”</span></p><p>
  <span>The bundle of flowers fell from Brienne's hand.<br/>
<br/>
The picture on screen switched to a video of Daenerys Targaryen. “This is a demand for Brienne Tarth. We have your father. He's safe in our care and we mean him no harm. Surrender Jaime Lannister to us and we'll return you both to your home. This offer stands for 48 hours. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee your father's safety. Furthermore, if you do not remand Jaime Lannister, I will find him—and you—by whatever means necessary.” The video went hauntingly black, before cutting back to the anchor. He jumped into a monologue about her life, as if it was just a piece of gossip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point Tysha had led her to a couch, and Jaime stood behind her, strong hands on her shoulders, steadying her. Brienne tried to puzzle the video together. They had her father. Daenerys Targaryen had her father, demanded she choose between him and Jaime. Her head swam with hurt. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. That wasn't a choice she could make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't have to.</span>
</p><p>“<span>I'll turn myself in.” </span></p><p>“<span>No!” She turned to Jaime. His jaw was set, mind made up. She had to change it. “No. You can't turn yourself in. I need to think. I need to...”</span></p><p>
  <span>Even if she found her father, freed him, Jaime wouldn't be safe. Daenerys Targaryen said it herself, she didn't actually want Selwyn, she wanted Jaime. Brienne needed to do something about her. Maybe she could meet with her, tell her about her own father. Convince her of what he'd been, why Jaime had done it. Surely, any rational person would understand. But rational people didn't build armies and kidnap fathers.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Brienne...” he took his hands from her shoulders, crouching behind the couch. She twisted, to look at him. </span></p><p>“<span>Jaime, no.” He'd already given enough of himself for these people. “I'll, I'll...I'll go. I'll talk to her, see what other arrangements we can make.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can't reason with a Targaryen.” Memory clouded his eyes and she could see the anger that coursed through him. The part of that anger directed at her cut straight to her heart.<br/>
</span></p><p>“<span>I have to try,” she insisted. “I'll wait 'til morning and I won't go alone...but </span><em>you</em><span> can't come. If it doesn't work, we'll try...” Not what he was suggesting, she couldn't even think of it. “Something else.”</span></p><p>
  <span>He turned on her. “And what do you think happens when you </span>
  <em>talk</em>
  <span> to her? Because I can tell you right now, if you show up, she captures you. And then I turn myself in anyway.”<br/>
<br/>
He was right. A fearful chill set in, one she couldn't shake. Talking would never work. She thought of Jaime, slitting the mad Councilman's throat, how he must have felt trying to find some way to stop him, what it had been like to drag a knife across his throat. She'd killed Locke and his men and the stakes now felt somehow higher, but... Her skin prickled, visibly marked by the cold spreading through her body. Could she even get close enough?</span>
</p><p>“<span>Not tonight then,” she resigned at last. “We won't be able to meet with her tonight anyway.”<br/>
<br/>
He nodded. They tabled their impasse.</span></p><p>
  <span>He kissed her again outside her room, and she was surprised to realize she didn't care if they got caught. Fear that it might be the last time, the last moment she had with him, ran thick across her nerves. She hated breaking apart.<br/>
<br/>
“Promise me,” he said to her, “Promise me you're not going to try to sneak out tonight, that you're going stay in bed and wait 'til morning.” He stroked her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear. “I'm gonna be here, waiting to tag along, and I'll be really mad if you're not around to tell me no.”<br/>
<br/>
She bit her lip, hoping it was a promise she could keep. Surprising him with one more kiss, she slipped halfway into her room. “Jaime,” she turned in the doorway, just enough to see him. “Despite everything... Thanks for today.”<br/>
<br/>
Hidden behind her walls, she uncapped the pill bottle on her dresser, and tipped a capsule into her hand. The reflection above caught her eye and she studied her human face. She looked the same as she always had. A new bruise here, a scrape there, but still the same ugly Brienne. Only she wasn't the same at all.<br/>
<br/>
She dropped the capsule into her pocket.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <span>Jaime sat outside her door, keeping watch. Ten minutes. An hour. She hadn't left and he didn't think she was going to. The inaction grated on him. There was no way for Brienne to save them both. Daenerys Targaryen was as mad as her father. Brienne may not understand that now, she would by morning and by then it might be too late. He'd thought her determination to find the good in people was one of the things he loved about her. He'd been wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing, he began to pace the hallway. He needed to move, couldn't just sit there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forty-eight hours. He didn't even know when the video was sent. By morning, they'd have a day at most. That wasn't enough time. If Daenerys killed Brienne's father, nothing that happened after would matter. They'd have no life together, he was certain of that. Even if they could escape, flee to another continent and hide for the rest of their lives, it would never work. She'd try, but eventually the bitterness would set in. Resentment would set in and she'd start to see him as the man who could have saved her father and didn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching into his pocket, he fished out the blade of grass he'd plucked from her hair, unable to believe that had only been hours ago. He twisted it between his fingers, studying it like it held the answer. She'd told him then that she hadn't hated him. Had she wanted to? Why did she always have to find the good in people? Jaime made a decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whispering an apology to the silence behind her door, he pulled open the one across from it and stepped through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was back immediately. It wasn't the right one. He tried the one next to it with the same result. He wondered exactly what he was trying to find. Tysha had a door to his house and he supposed that was it, but if he tried them all, maybe he could get straight to the capitol buildings. He had no idea what Tysha would need in the Capitol, but then, he had no idea what she needed in the arctic wasteland he'd just stepped out of, either. One of them led to his house at least, he reassured himself again.<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped at the sound of a door creaking open, not needing to turn around. The weight of Brienne's stare from behind him was too heavy to be anything else.</span>
</p><p>“<span>You're leaving.” It wasn't a question. He stayed stone still, held prisoner by the hurt in her voice. This was his fault though! He was the only one who could make it right.</span></p><p>“<span>I have to.”</span></p><p>“<span>You don't,” she plead, and he made the mistake of looking up, into her eyes. They swam with accusation of betrayal and he almost couldn't do it. If they had more time, he wouldn't. He'd pull her back into her room and do whatever he could think of to make her forget. But they didn't.<br/>
</span></p><p><span>Instead, he moved to the next door. </span>“<span>I do.” If she had to hate him, let it be for this.</span></p><p>
  <span>She inhaled. Stepped toward him. Cut him with his own words.<br/>
<br/>
“If you go, I go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped his hand from the knob. “That's... No. That's not how it works.”</span>
</p><p><span>She crossed her arms across her chest, daring him to move. “If you go,” she straightened her back, making it clear she'd stand sentinel all night, and any move he made, she'd make too, “I go.”</span><br/>
<br/>
He deflated, blowing out a breath. She'd never let him turn himself in, and dragging her through doors now just put her in danger. “Okay,” he agreed, not agreeing at all. “I guess morning, then?”</p><p>
  <span>Her posture loosened, but she didn't move. “Morning,” she nodded firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morning wasn't good enough. He had to do something now, but he knew she wouldn't go back to bed. She wouldn't let him out of her sight. He sauntered casually down the hall, Brienne following even then, prepared for any quick change in plans. Every move he made, she countered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped at the last door. Their door. Stretching lazily, he let a lurid grin cross his face. “Hey Brienne, remember when I made you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned in to swat him, and he captured her wrist, pulling her in. Using his maimed arm, he pinned her to him, kissing her ferociously, for distraction. For luck. He yanked the door open, pushed her through, and locked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone in the corridor, his heart shattered. Let her hate him for that.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really wanted to have this wrapped up today, like I was supposed to, but being a human dumpster fire might be getting in the way of that so I'm avoiding promises. We're getting to the end though!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Events begin to come full circle.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne's eyes popped open to the cool night air, brushing across her skin. She was back in the meadow. On Tarth.<br/><br/>“Jaime?” she called, knowing he wouldn't answer. Knowing he wasn't with her.</p><p><em>No.</em> She twisted the doorknob. It jiggled side to side. <em>No, no, no, no!</em> She tried it again, to the same result. What had he done?</p><p>Pounding on the door, she called to him again. “Jaime! Jaime, this isn't funny! Let me in right now!” She didn't even know if he could hear her on the other side. She didn't even know if he was still there. What she did know was that it didn't end like this.</p><p>Frantically, she threw all her weight against the barrier, jarring it on its hinges, trying to seek out any sign of weakness. She'd always cursed her build, but in that moment she reveled in her strength, delighted in the fact that she had been made for tearing down doors. She rammed her shoulder against it, hard, then again even harder, knowing she'd be bruised the next time she looked in a mirror. She kicked, throwing her full force behind her legs, battering the flimsy wood, waiting for it to break. It should break, it had to break. She could do this. She <em>would</em><span> do this, she...</span></p><p>
  <span>She sank to the ground. The fight ran out of her and she hadn't even made a dent. Jaime was probably on his way to the Capitol by now. She shuddered out a defeated breath, trying not to think about what would happen when he got there. This couldn't be it, there had to be another way. He didn't get to trap her on her island and run away to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up, she saw it. The window! Tysha's door might not break, but the window certainly would. It was small, would be a nightmare to squeeze through, but she could do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately on her feet, she pulled off her shirt and wrapped it around her hand. The wooden cross between the glass splintered easily and the first panel shattered, tinkling as it hit the ground. She punched again, knocking out another panel, keeping her hand covered with her shirt as she pulled remnants from the frame. A shard pushed through anyway, and she felt its bite on her palm, but kept going, pushing the balance between quick and careful. Finally, she stood in front of a small opening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wound on her hand was shallow, and she pressed the shirt to it to stave off the last of the bleeding before pulling the garment back over her head. It would be a squeeze, but she was sure the window was just big enough for her to fit through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calculating the best way to do it, she settled on legs first, hauling herself up to the ledge. She clung to a knot in the wood as she dropped one leg into the space, then the other. Her shirt rucked up her back as she slid down and she was certain the ledge behind her left more splinters than she could pick out in her lifetime, but with a quick jerk of her shoulders, she was inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shack was one room, mostly empty, and she didn't take time to explore, hand questing straight for the doorknob. It turned. She stepped out into the field. Through the doorway, she could see the interior of the shack, and it still jarred her that it's wasn't the old desk or rusted watering can on the other side, but Tysha's hallway. But she didn't have time to dwell on that. She stepped through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An old desk. A rusty watering can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck! No, that wasn't how it worked. She'd been through Tysha's doors before and they never led where they were supposed to. She smoothed her hand down her face, trying to think. Maybe the door had to be closed. <br/><br/>She stepped back out into the field, pulling the door shut behind her. She turned the knob. It jiggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>The window remained broken. Brienne was trapped. A strangled sob broke from her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't supposed to end this way.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>Jaime had gone through four more doorways, finding neither the one to his home, nor a better option. He didn't even know if half the places he'd ended up even existed in reality. At least not any reality he'd ever learned about. He didn't know exactly what locking the door would do, but he hadn't seen Brienne and counted that as a good sign. Hate him or not, she'd be safe. Her father would return to her and with enough time, he'd be a memory of a really bad dream she had once.</p><p>“It's this one.”<br/><br/>He looked up to see Cersei leaning against the second door and berated himself for working from the wrong order. She looked sad, wounded, and he wondered if she was here to stop him. He considered the irony of her helping Brienne, then considered ducking back into the empty desert he'd come back from. But that was the door, the one he needed. He moved toward her. He could push her aside if he had to.</p><p>When he reached her, she moved back, not trying to stop him at all. He glanced up, wary as he put his hand on the knob. This was some kind of trap. He was suddenly aware of what Brienne must feel, locked in their meadow, powerless to do anything. That was different though. Brienne never should have been involved in this in the first place.</p><p>“Thanks,” he mumbled, hoping it was appropriate, as he turned the knob.</p><p>“Wait,” she said. She took his hand from the knob and pressed something into his palm. It felt smooth, familiar. “I went back for that.”<br/><br/>He looked at the vial, fury shooting through him. “<em>Still</em>?”<br/><br/>Cersei rolled her eyes. “Quit being so dramatic. It's not for <em>her</em><span>.” She watched him pointedly, as her meaning sunk in. “There are two ways you can use it.” She looked away. “I hope it's the first.”<br/><br/>And she had just accused </span><em>him</em><span> of being dramatic! He wanted to laugh. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, the normal way. The way it should have been all along. “Thanks,” he mumbled again, not knowing what else to say. If he made it back, he was sure they'd have a lot to talk about.<br/><br/>He pushed through the door and found himself in Tyrion's bedroom.</span></p><p>---</p><p>Jaime scratched at his arm, eyeing the table before him for an opportunity. So far, he'd been lucky. The vial he'd tied between the thick layers of bandages capping his wrist remained undiscovered, even through the rough shake down Daenerys' men had given him upon arrival. It was a stupid idea, trying to poison her, and at his core, he knew it would never work, but the alternative was surrendering entirely, to people who wanted him dead. One scenario was probably going to end in them killing him, but the other guaranteed it, so he might as well take his chances with the first.</p><p>Except standing six feet back from the spot she'd taken behind her father's old desk, he realized there was no way he could slip it to her.</p><p>She droned on, about him, about how she'd lie awake fantasizing about killing him, while glaring like she expected an apology. If she thought that was happening, she was as crazy as her father had been. It was probably a decent speech, at least based on the little attention he'd paid it, but his whole focus was captive to the water glass sitting just within her grasp. He itched his arm again, sending the vial infinitesimally closer to the top. He just had to wait.</p><p>They weren't alone in the room, one of her men, the gruff one, who'd struck him in the face while patting him down, stood behind her. Jaime knew there would be at least one set of eyes on him at all times. He needed a diversion. He had nothing.</p><p>He thought of the door, of Brienne, and wondered if she was still safe on Tarth. This would probably be going a lot better if she were with him, but he couldn't risk it. He was almost certainly going to die, and if she were here, she would too. He fought a smile. All of his best choices hurt the most.</p><p>“I'm sorry,” stopped her speech. “Is something funny?”</p><p>“You sound like your father.” Another scratch. More movement. The poison was inches from the top and Jaime had an idea. He'd never get it into the water, but if he could get the vial into his hand, he might be able to provoke her enough pour it into her mouth. He didn't know how fast it acted and if her guard didn't kill him, the dozen or so lined up outside absolutely would, but the world would be free of her and he'd retain the title he earned killing her father, though probably no one other than Brienne would appreciate it. He snickered a little at the twisted way that made sense. He itched again.</p><p>“My father's death is a joke to you?” The question was flat, matter of fact, but he felt the malice behind it all the same.</p><p>“Your father was a joke to me,” he prodded, itching his way under her skin, the same way he itched at his bandage. “Aerys Targaryen, beloved father. Terrible councilman. Did you know he was slaughtering innocent men, women, children?” Fury filled her face at his accusation, at the cavalier way he spoke of the man, long dead. “Did he come home and tell you what he did to them over dinner? Or did he leave that at that office while he read you bedtime stories?”</p><p>Daenerys jumped to her feet, circling him. “I know what my father was,” her voice slipped, showing the cold beneath. “Just as I'm sure you know what yours was.”</p><p>“Oh, mine was bad, I don't deny that, but he wasn't a lunatic. He didn't care about the people, sure, but he never hatched a conspiracy to massacre them.” The vial slipped into his hand. He fiddled with the lid. “If you want me to apologize, I'm not going to. I'm glad I did it.”<br/><br/>He had her. He could see the flames rolling from her skin, watch her burn from the inside out. Jaime was ready.</p><p>“He had a family! He had...” She rounded on him now, almost close enough. He'd be dead in minutes, but with any luck, so would she. He thought again of Brienne, of the meadow, how he wished he was there with her, but he wasn't and this was the best he could do. “You talk about innocent people, did you ever stop to think what you took from me? Did you ever—" She stopped, watching him fidget. "What's in your hand?”<br/><br/>Jaime lunged, sending her sprawling to the wall. The man behind her desk, previously still as a statue sprung to life, but it was too late, he had her. Three others crashed through the door at the sound of her startled scream. He brought the vial up in a smooth arc, toward her mouth, only...only...his stupid, useless left hand miscalculated. She swatted it away, as easily as he'd swatted at that bee. It tinkled to the ground, leaving a thin trail of its contents as it rolled away. Fuck.</p><p>Pain exploded behind his eyes as the guard heaved a boot into his side, then yanked him to his feet by his bad arm. Another backhanded him across the face, catching him by his shirt collar when he wobbled, unsteady. Fuck. He'd known it was a long shot, but he'd still hoped... He'd still hoped. He saw now exactly how stupid he'd been.</p><p>Daenerys crossed to the vial and plucked it from the ground. She looked at it, then at him, and smiled. “Poison?”</p><p>He shrugged, watching her through squinted eyes. “Had to try something.”<br/><br/>She nodded, still smiling at him. “It's still half full,” her grin widened. “I guess that means it's my turn to try something.” She turned to the guard. “Bind him.”<br/><br/>Jaime hoped the poison was fast. Painless. He was prepared for death, but that didn't mean he <span>wanted to suffer. He didn't resist as they taped him, mercifully, to a chair this time, though he suspected it was more lack of options than concern for his comfort. There was no point, he couldn't fight them off alone and there was no harpy here to rescue him.</span></p><p>
  <span>Inside his mind, he went back in time, back to the previous afternoon. That was where he wanted to die, not here, another ghost of Aerys' cold office. But Daenerys didn't approach him. Instead, she set the poison on the desk and pulled out a phone.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Yes, we have a bit of a,” she glanced at Jaime, “situation. Our company has no entertainment.” She smiled, saccharine sweet. </span>“<span>Is the tracking device ready?” Tracking device? Tracking what? What game was she playing? He stilled, leaned in as much as the tape around him would allow, stopped even the sound of his own breath, trying desperately for any scrap of what the other person was saying.<br/><br/>“Good! You've programmed all her information?” </span>No. She couldn't mean... No. <em>No!<br/><br/></em><span>“Yes, alive... Mhmm... The sooner the better.” She looked at Jaime, her cloying smile growing at the horror painted across his face. “Our guest really wants to know what happens to people who betray me.” She flashed her teeth. “Make sure you call me when you have her. I'd like to be there.”<br/><br/>He slumped in the chair, unable to comprehend what he'd done. He should have just surrendered. Why hadn't he just surrendered? He knew he'd been asking too much, that he'd committed sins for which there was no absolution. He'd tried to touch the sun anyway and now she'd do his penance for it.</span></p><p>
  <span>What had he done?</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <span>Brienne wasn't sure what time meant anymore. It was a senseless construct that passed through the rawness of her throat, and eyes, now long dried. She felt like they'd never produce moisture again. A while back, she'd realized she was still in the same spot where she and Jaime had been truly happy just hours earlier. That idea didn't make sense, but it did unsettle her and she'd pulled herself from it, wandering listlessly into the field, then circling back and dropping again, a few hundred feet from the shack. Now she lay in the grass again, bitter at the way it bit her skin, like it was intentionally mocking her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What else could she do?<br/><br/>She could probably find her house from here, but there was no point. She didn't have time. Time. She laughed, rough and hoarse. It was a big joke that didn't make any sense, and there she was contemplating it all the same. It had taken her a day and a half to cross the ocean and only seconds for him to shove her through the door, trapping her in the home she'd never even wanted to leave. That day and a half had flown by, a whirlwind she couldn't seem to catch up with. Now a day and a half might as well be eternity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought of prison too, how trapped she'd felt when she'd first arrived at Jaime's home. The invisible bars on the windows, the way most of the household staff felt more like guards. No amount of time could have told her she'd long to be trapped that way again. No prison was worse than the inability to protect the people she loved.</span>
</p><p>She picked at a flower on the ground next to her and held it before her bleary eyes. It was yellow, the kind she picked petals from when she was a kid, back when she still believed it possible for someone like her to be loved. She picked them now.<br/><br/><em>He's going to live.</em></p><p>
  <em>He's going to die.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Live.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Die.</em>
</p><p>One by one, the petals fluttered, catching on her shirt, drifting to the ground.</p><p>
  <em>Live.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>It landed on live. Brienne fought the hope blooming in her chest. It was a foolish children's game and she was trapped, too far away, no time to reach him. She threw the stem to the ground and closed her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must have dozed because when she opened them again, pinks had begun creeping into the sky. Dazed, she rubbed at her face, trying to grab hold of the thing she was certain she'd missed. It came again and she realized it was the ground itself, a faint tremor shaking her awake. An earthquake? It wasn't unheard of, but... The ground beneath her thrummed to life, grass waving with the vibrations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fully aware, she jerked up, looking back at the hut. It rattled, the door she'd failed to beat down bouncing on its hinges. It shook again, harder, as she leaped to her feet running toward it. Something inside raged and pounded, but what little she could see through the window she'd broken out was the same emptiness as before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door began to splinter. Jaime! He'd come back. Or maybe Tysha realized she was gone and was doing something magical. Brienne didn't know what to think, only that a portal was opening. She had to get through that door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It heaved and sighed, roaring from within. A chunk broke free, just as she reached it. On the other side, a red, mechanical eye, twisted, turned, and landed on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne jumped back, narrowly escaping the metallic claws, grappling for her from inside. The bear. The godsdamned bear, set directly on her as it tore the fragmented door apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She froze. It was faster than she was and if she ran, it would catch her. If she didn't, it would catch her. She needed to get through that door and it <em>had</em> to be the world's worst case scenario blocking her path. Of course it did. She moved to the side, toward the window. The red eye followed. Another scrap of door fell free. She moved the other way, and the eye tracked her then too. The creature, Tinkerbell she recalled vaguely, threw its head back and roared, saliva dripping from its yellow teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could act, a boom sounded in the hallway. The bear's head exploded, spraying her with blood and chunks up skull. The animal swayed on it's feet for a second, then dropped heavily to the ground. Brienne remained petrified, unable to move, even just to close her mouth. In the hallway, she could see a young man, wearing a shocked expression as smoke drifted up from the gun in his hands.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Podrick?” she rasped, still unable to believe it.</span></p><p>
  <span>He bobbed his head in disbelief, clearly as disoriented as she was. Pulling herself from her stupor, she climbed over the carcass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the hallway, Tysha's house was torn to shreds and panic wormed down Brienne's spine. If they'd been killed... She'd left the bear for dead. How had it even found her.<br/><br/>“You've killed my bear.” In the tatters of the curtain down the hall, Daenerys Targaryen pouted. Her hair hung in untamed waves and dark circles set her eyes deep in her face. She looked utterly unhinged. Brienne eyed her cautiously, waiting for an attack, but the other woman hung back, looking sadly at the pitiful creature at Brienne's feet. “Thought it was a gift you left for us at the warehouse. Took us so long to repair it, too.” Her eyes glittered malice in the dim light. “I wish you hadn't made this all so difficult. I really wasn't trying to drag you into it.” She stood, staring at Brienne through her creepy eyes. </span>
  <em>Reptilian </em>
  <span>she remembered Jaime saying. She could see what he'd meant. Brienne snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trepidation turned to rage, urgency flooding her, the same way it had when she'd trapped Locke under the desk. She didn't need to be a harpy, didn't need talons. Brienne was certain she could tear the other woman apart with her hands. “Where's Jaime?” </span>
</p><p>“I have him,” Daenerys assured, pressing back slightly. “Did you know he meant to poison me?” She looked Brienne up and down, almost apologetic in her appraisal. The rage drained away. She couldn't kill her, not if she had him. “I would have let you go.”</p><p>Daenerys turned, pushing back through what was left of the curtain. Seconds later, her men replaced her, grabbing Brienne with meaty hands. She didn't struggle. If they had Jaime, they'd take her to him. She had to hope for that.</p><p>She cupped her hand over the pill in her pocket.</p><p>---</p><p>The Capitol building was near empty when they arrived, save for Daenerys' men and whatever underpaid night security they staffed it with. The other councilmen wouldn't arrive for hours. Not that they were any guarantee of help. Brienne understood the whole place was in chaos. Tourists weren't even allowed through the Capitol gates right now.</p><p>Brienne knew Jaime was still alive, Daenerys herself had confirmed it, but beyond that she had no idea what to expect. On the ride over, her brain had filled in the gaps, each scenario worse than the next. Daenerys had tried to engage her in small talk, asking her questions about herself and her home. Brienne hadn't answered any of them. She suspected the questions weren't so much ice breakers between new friends, as they were a way of pumping her with more anxiety. Instead, she stayed silent, watching, waiting for that itch to start under her skin.</p><p>She'd been calm. Even as they marched up the front steps, into the towering building, she'd been impressed by how centered she remained. As they cowed her into the elevator, however, she felt her composure start to slip. She still hadn't the faintest hint of an itch, and each floor that ticked by on the little digital panel above the doors sent another spark of fear through her nerves. Her hands trembled and she willed them still, not wanting Daenerys to have the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she really was. She knew anyway, Brienne could read it in the hint of a smile playing around her lips.</p><p>The ride to the top had somehow taken forever and not nearly long enough all at once. Brienne was ready to claw out of skin, imagining every itch as more than it was, while the very real possibility that it would happen to late burrowed in her brain. The doors opened with a cheerful ding that made her jump at how out of place it was. The exited into a long corridor. It was sterile, white marble, so different from Tysha's that she couldn't help contrast the two as their footfalls echoed in the empty space. The fear that had taken root gnawed openly now.</p><p>Daenerys rounded a corner and pulled open a door.</p><p>“Jaime!” He was taped to a chair, a mottled blue patch forming around one eye, but he was alive and within reach. Brienne rushed toward him, the flood of emotions she'd fought so hard to contain spilling across the tiles. She realized the mistake too late, as Daenerys' smile grew.<br/><br/>“I'm so glad I could reunite the two of you!”</p><p>Brienne didn't look up at her. She was going to die in this room, she was sure of it, but in the moments she had left, she was going to live. She leaned in, touching his face, allowing the realness of it to consume her. His bloodshot eyes stared into hers and everyone else in the room disappeared.</p><p>“Brienne, listen to me,” he said, forceful and rushed. “Don't drink it. Let her torture me, let her kill me. Don't drink whatever she gives you.” His eyes plead with her, begged her to understand.</p><p>Drink it? Drink what? Brienne was lost. “Jaime, what are you—?”<br/><br/>Daenerys answered before he got the chance. “I told you he tried to poison me. I <em>was</em><span> going to let you go, you and your father, but...debts must be paid.” Her fingertips drummed on the desk next to the vial, the click of her nails setting an ominous death march. “His life is no longer enough. Now you'll die in front of him.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Brienne sucked in a breath so sharp it felt like she'd been stabbed. Dying in this room, next to Jaime was one thing, something she'd accepted. Making him watch the poison claim her at the hands of a Targaryen was more than she could imagine. She couldn't do it. </span>
  <em>Wouldn't</em>
  <span> do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why wasn't she itching? She willed her skin to prickle to life, but it ignored her pleas. It was going to happen too late, she realized, scrambling for a new plan. Daenerys could kill her, she could kill Jaime and make her watch, but it wasn't going to happen the way she wanted, Brienne would make sure of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guards dragged her from the floor, standing her upright. Daenerys nudged the vial toward her. “Drink.”<br/><br/>“No.” She watched Jaime sag in relief. He met her eyes with a watery smile.</span>
</p><p>“<span>No?” Daenerys laughed. “You realize how outnumbered you are, right? That my men could hold you while I pour it down your throat myself?” Instinctively, Brienne clamped her lips shut. Just because they could, didn't mean she'd make it easy for them. She steeled herself for a fight, but Daenerys just laughed again, harder, more sinister this time. “Don't worry, I'm not going to. It's not as fun if you don't drink it yourself.” That didn't bring Brienne an iota of consolation. The woman was clearly a lunatic and Brienne didn't want to know what it was that she did consider fun.</span></p><p>
  <span>Idly, she used her foot to scratch an itch on her leg. An itch on her leg! Against her will, a sliver of hope wormed its way in, but the itch only fizzled out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys stepped away from the desk, taunting her. “Those bounty hunters you killed... They were an interesting bunch.” Brienne narrowed her eyes, trying to puzzle out Daenerys' angle. “If we hadn't acquired that...creature, you wouldn't even be here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that it? Would she have to face the bear again? The idea sent bile clawing at her throat, but fighting the bear was impossible. No amount of healing could fix what Pod had done. Then Daenerys continued, turning the red-eyed bear into little more than a stuffed toy from a carnival.</span>
</p><p>“<span>At first, I was livid when I learned my father's killer had been maimed. I wanted him whole.” She glanced at him, with a wince. “I now empathize with how taxing his company can be. I understand why they did it.” She stepped back toward the desk and picked up the vial. “You will drink,” she demanded, extending it to Brienne. “I don't know how many pieces of him it will take, but you will.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Brienne's resolve shattered. Her legs buckled, threatening collapse, heartbeat screaming frantically in her chest. This couldn't be happening. Her worst nightmare brought to life or his? She tore her gaze to Jaime, searching him for an answer, but his eyes, even when they locked on hers, were hollow. His skin was gray, he opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. He didn't know any better than she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys clapped her hands twice and one of her men procured a large pocket knife. Again she held the vial toward Brienne. “Shall we start?” This time, Brienne took it.<br/><br/>Goosebumps popped, lining her arms. She breathed in, squeezed her eyes shut. Then, feather light, an itch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was real, she could feel it roaring to life inside her. She needed more time, not a lot more, just enough. The itching swelled with the feeling of hundreds of feather trying to push through her skin, and she fought against raking her nails over her arms, not wanting to give herself away. Desperately, she met Jaime's eyes, and gave the faintest nod, hoping he got the message, understood what was happening. His defeated eyes rounded infinitesimally and she knew he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held the vial to her nose, sniffing it, buying seconds anywhere she could. The urge to scratch was maddening and she needed to get her shoes off at least, but the change was happening fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daenerys tapped her foot. “I have a Union to run. If you're going to drink, do it.”<br/><br/>Beneath Jaime's shirt, Brienne felt a feather pop free on her arm. Then another. And another. She used her foot to slip off a shoe, then the other one, as painful pricks raced across her skin.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Fine,” Daenerys said, at the limit of her patience. She turned to her guard. “Take a finger.”<br/><br/>“No,” Brienne said, surprised by how calm and steady the word came. At her side, she flexed the talons tipping her left hand. <br/><br/>“Then you need to drink.”<br/><br/>She raised the vial, giving Daenerys a full look at the claws holding it, before tipping the contents onto the marble below them. “No,” she repeated.<br/><br/>Brienne took full advantage of Daenerys' shocked stupor, tearing free of the restrictive clothes and launching herself at the knife wielding guard. </span></p><p>“<span>Kill him!” Daenerys shrieked, but she was a second too late. The knife skittered across the floor, the guard darting the other way, out of her path. <br/><br/>She had barely a moment to take in Jaime's awestruck face, then she was on the guard, shredding him open. She hated it, hated the sound of tearing flesh, haunted by his silence as it happened. Any hope he'd be an example, send the others fleeing, abandoned her as more men filed through the door. </span></p><p>
  <span>The closed space made it harder than it had been in the warehouse, with no high ceilings to dive from or open spaces to stretch her wings. Frenzied shots echoed from the walls and blades swiped at her from all directions. Daenerys stood in the center of the chaos, still screaming to kill him at anyone who could hear her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime's chair toppled over and Brienne became acutely aware of how much more danger he was in here. Freeing him turned to the top priority. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She landed on him, covering them with her wings the best she could, frantically tearing at the tape that bound him to the chair. She scraped his arm, whispering an apology without stopping to mean it. A searing pain shot through her leg, as someone tore a handful of feathers from her. She kicked, lashing out blindly. Whatever she caught split open, thick and wet. <br/><br/>Jaime was almost free when she saw Daenerys dive for the knife. Humming a prayer, she heaved toward her, catching her leg. Jaime was on his feet then, swinging the heavy chair, awkwardly with one hand. It crashed down on a guard behind her, and she turned her head just long enough to feel the knife in front of her plunge into her shoulder. She whipped her head toward it, shaking away the pain, as Daenerys swiped again, this time barely missing her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many of them, coming in waves, three times the numbers in the warehouse in a fragment of the space. Crumpled men writhed on the floor, making it even harder to move, as Daenerys pulled free of her grasp. Brienne dove for her again. Physically, her men were a bigger threat, more practiced with the weapons they wielded, but the lunacy in her eyes was the scariest thing Brienne had ever witnessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She checked back on Jaime, who was bloodied, bruised, but holding his own with the chair, nonetheless. Grappling her way up the other woman, she thought of him as she drew a talon across her throat. Daenerys didn't beg or plead as Locke had—instead shock filled her eyes as the blood drained from her. As if she hadn't thought she could die. For half a second, Brienne imagined that deranged look haunting her nightmares for the rest of her life. Then she remembered they weren't done and she still needed to live if she was ever going to have another nightmare again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Side by side, she and Jaime fought, her kicking and scratching, him swinging his chair. She could see the fatigue setting into his arm, weary and unpracticed, but he fought on anyway. After an eternity, the only movement in the room was their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She collapsed on the hard floor, a mess of pain and tattered feathers, a life time of adrenaline pumping through her as her eyes slipped shut. Somewhere in the darkness, Jaime's hand found hers. <br/><br/>“We're alive,” he panted.<br/><br/>“We're alive,” she whispered back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Only one last chapter to wrap things up! Again, a thousand apologies for being late. I considered posting both chapters tonight, but my brain hurts and I really want to at least skim through the final part first.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's short. It's fluffy. It's the end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne was there, pacing the hall and chewing her lip when Jaime exited the council chambers. He'd bet his remaining hand she'd done it for the entire three or so hours he'd been in there. As soon as she was sufficiently sure her father truly was safe and comfortable, recovering from minor dehydration at worst, she'd focused all of her anxiety on the meeting with the Council.</p><p>“What did they say?” she demanded the moment the door clicked behind him.</p><p>He didn't answer immediately, instead, sauntering toward her, taking her in. She sought answers with her eyes, and he was glad to find them bright and clear even though he knew she still hadn't rested properly, her sleep broken and fitful. The bruises had begun to fade, and soon the lace of stitches peeking out from the collar of her shirt would follow. She was human again, entirely woman, and it struck him that he'd likely never see her as anything else ever again. Despite himself, a sense of loss ghosted over him at the realization. In front of him, her eyebrows shot upward, pushing him to answer her question.</p><p>“They said,” he began dramatically, drawing out her anticipation, “exactly what I told you they would.” <br/>She blew out a long, relieved breath, then looked at him, seeking reassurance. “So we're not charged with anything? You're sure?”</p><p>He laughed, mostly genuine, although he had to admit a hint of bitterness toward the system behind the doors. Yes, it had worked favorably for him a second time, but still, perhaps with a more transparent way of doing things, he would have never found himself in such situations.</p><p>“Yes, I'm sure. The Council understands we acted as we had to. Some were more...grudging than others,” he scowled, then quickly added, “at least towards me—no one in there ever wanted to punish <em>you</em>. And they're still split on how much to admit to the public. It'll be little as possible, I suspect.”</p><p>Her nod, clouded with doubt, told him she wasn't convinced. She feared this would continue to haunt her. He took her hand and pulled her over to a bench, dragging her down to sit next to him.</p><p>“Hey,” he prodded, nudging a gentle elbow into her side. “These are council problems now, I promise. There's a lot of rebuilding to do, replacing... They need to get the citizens back under control. They're not coming after you.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, willing her to believe him.</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>Jaime smirked and waggled his eyebrows, fully seizing the opening she'd given him. “Of course I'm coming after you.”<br/><br/>“That's not what I mean and you know it!” The glare she tried to shoot contrasted with the pink that filled her cheeks and the smile she fought to bite back, filling him with a warmth he hadn't known possible. Still, she broke the gaze, fidgeted with his hand, and he watched her fight some internal battle about what she really wanted to ask.<br/><br/>“If its a council problem,” she started slowly, “doesn't that make it a you problem? I mean, you are one of them.”<br/><br/>Oh! He'd forgotten to share that part. “Actually, no.” He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. He didn't think she would, but maybe in some absurd twist, she'd decided she liked it here. Even if she did, that didn't mean he had to sit on the Council to stay. They could find other things to do. “They, uh... They <em>suggested</em><span> I not pursue my father's seat. Something about too much baggage...”</span></p><p>“<span>What? They can't!” She jumped to her feet. Of all the possible reactions, he hadn't expected her to be defensive. He still struggled with the idea that he had someone on his side, that she believed him. Believed </span><em>in </em><span>him, enough to fight for him. “I'll go talk to them, I'll—”</span></p><p>“Brienne,” he called softly, trying to break through to her as she paced small circles in front of the bench. “Brienne,” he tried again, catching her this time and she trailed off, directing her full attention to him. “I don't want my father's seat. If they'd asked, I was going to say no.”<br/><br/>Jaime watched her brow furrow, amused by the bewilderment in her eyes as she cataloged and rejected all the reasons he could possibly decline. She still didn't get it. Even after everything they'd been through, after all the things she believed, she still couldn't comprehend his feelings for her. He supposed he'd just have to keep showing her.</p><p>“What are you going to do instead?” she asked, after seeming to give up on figuring out his reasons.</p><p>He stood, tucking her arm into his, lacing their fingers together, as he dragged her toward the building's exit. “Well,” he drawled, drawing her tighter in anticipation of her instinct to pull away, “I <em>planned </em><span>on getting married...” He felt her stiffen, delighted in the way her blue eyes went saucer-wide, eyebrows disappearing into hairline. “But before that, there's this great museum on a fantastic island an amazing woman told me about.” Lifting their joined hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles, then stopped walking, pulling her face to face with him. “Love to see it...if you'll have me?”</span></p><p>
  <span>She spent exactly three heartbeats staring at him in disbelief before a radiant smile split her face. Her eyes swam, her chin wobbled, and Jaime drank her in, her warmth spreading through him so thick he was sure he'd never be cold again. She nodded vigorous agreement, before reaching up to pull him in for a kiss he never wanted to end. He'd have to keep showing her and the rest of their lives sounded just about right.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>“<span>Are you sure it's not too morbid?” Brienne asked, plucking at the blue chiffon.</span></p><p>“<span>No,” Margaery insisted again, smoothing down the front of the dress. “I mean, maybe a little, but don't you guys have basically the most morbid how-we-met story that ever happened?” </span></p><p>
  <span>Brienne couldn't help smiling at that. They really did. She supposed the things they'd already gone through only prepared them for anything. The worst was behind them and she found herself surprisingly confident in looking forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn't rushed back to Tarth immediately after being cleared to do so, but they hadn't lingered in the Capitol long, either. Just enough to bring the people closest to them up to speed, make a single statement to the press, and try to put everything after the engagement party behind them. Except the dress, apparently.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Better morbid than boring,” Tysha interjected, pushing a blue and silver beaded comb into Brienne's hair. Brienne wasn't sure she'd agree with </span><em>that</em><span> but she appreciated the sentiment anyway. </span></p><p>
  <span>A male throat cleared behind them and Brienne turned to find her father watching her. As her friends skittered away to find their seats, she wondered what age he was seeing her at. Was she 12, sent home with a bloody lip after taking on some boys in her class? Five with pigtails and scraped knees? Some age she couldn't even remember? She'd probably never know, but she was so acutely aware of how grateful she was that he was here with her. Grateful that she ultimately had him to blame.</span>
</p><p>“<span>It's time,” his voice cracked a little as he offered her his arm.</span></p><p>
  <span>She should say something, but she knew if she tried, she'd probably start crying and ruin the light make up Margaery had so carefully applied. She settled on a whispered, “Thank you,” not trusting herself to say more. He understood. He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair, and again she got the sense he was seeing her entirely differently than she was at that moment. Then he led her out onto the sand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the wedding of the century. They offered simple finger foods, instead of the best catering money could buy, and a cake from a local bakery that they hadn't even sampled first. She hadn't bothered trying new dresses and they'd decided to rely on friends with phones, rather than finding the perfect photographer to tell them how to pose as if they liked each other. Instead of hundreds of guests with thousands watching from home, they had fewer than twenty, carefully chosen by her and Jaime as the people they wanted to share this with most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was perfect. The sand was warm under her feet and the waves provided music, rolling gently against the shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime's eyes lit when he saw her, pure joy dancing across his face. She still marveled that he could look at her that way, that any of this was real, but he was there, time and time again, reminding her it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for her, under a large doorway—his idea. They'd built it together, from scraps of driftwood they'd picked up over the four months she'd spent showing him her home. Their home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she met him under it, he shook her father's hand, then turned to her, still smiling like he was the luckiest man on earth. She didn't know where this doorway would take them, but as they joined hands to say the words in front of their family and friends, she was certain of one thing: She couldn't wait to find out.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ooh. This has been a truly wild ride for me. </p><p>I really want to thank languageintostillair for the amazing prompts! They were brilliant and so much fun to write. I'm not going to lie, it took me like a month and a half to figure out how I was going to approach them and I really regret not giving myself more time to actually write. And edit. Still, I loved the challenge and this is easily one of the things I've enjoyed writing most. I hope it's at least in the realm of what you were looking for and that you've enjoyed reading it.</p><p>I'd also like to thank you all for your kind comments! I've really enjoyed them as I scrabbled (a little late) for the finish line.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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